Dear lover, I can only use words to touch you, my hands cannot reach
past the kilometers that separate us in time.
I wait, but at least I do not wait in the vanity of emptiness,
not knowing who you are or for whom I wait.
I do not imagine you with the imagination of a writer of fiction.
I do not conjure up a heroine suffering long to meet a lover off to war,
separated for some worthy cause.
Our love is not the victim of some conflict needed as the recipe for
suspense. It is enough that we love well and no one can interfere. No
one can separate us with forbidden love or temp us with the taste of
I loved you before I met you in the anticipation, which came to me
prophetic in my dreams. I dream like, Joseph dreamed but the stars pay
homage to the love we share and we share love and there is no drought
for seven years, for seven years.
Our hearts are filled with plenty, we are the standard bearers: we are
the example. Write us down for posterity; write us down so that others
may hold on in hope of what only seems true in another’s dream.
Say, “I love you” with me so my heart and ears can unite and sing. Let
those three words band together to form a trilogy.
Michael D. Brown, PhD