Troy

I shiver, cold without your warmth.
I dream of adventure
as promised by the mountain relief maps
in your eyes
a landscape yet to be discovered
your hidden universe
your soul's terrain

I don't need much to be comfortable;
independence, and some breathing room
contemplative time, and a habitat to be human
a few good-natured folks with sharp tongues in soft mouths
and the knowledge that when all else drifts or fades

we won't.


I love the heart that pumps blood to your brain.