It means so much to read the words you write Which show me screts, clues to that which shapes you, Hints of those places you have been Inside your head and out. Lives you have lived, loving and laughing. Lives you have lived, loving and dying Inside and out. It means so much to hear the words you speak Which tell me truths, some of which I'd rather not know, And all of which I cannot live without knowing. It means so much to see your face in my dreams, Even when I'm not sleeping. I am keeping my door open In case, one day, you are out and would like to come in.
Reason for writing:
About a transcontinental friendship conducted largely via FAX machine. He was a reluctant lover. The poem speaks for itself.
Birth sign: Not entered
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