You have given this poet back his
words, and this blind man back his eyes.
When we are far apart,
separated even by continents,
think of this moment.
When you do, I will
get that spidery feeling
on the back of my legs and neck
and know you are still with me
because we believed in trust
and we believed in love
and we believed in chocolate
and poetry and spring rolls
and sex and intimacy.
You are so beautiful.
When she sighs, she gives me back my eyes.
We have been together for seven days
and a thousand years. I am no longer afraid.
“Don’t disappear,” she said,
and so I stayed.
I am no longer afraid of all my fuck ups and mistakes.
I am no longer afraid of love and all the strange forms it takes.
To anyone who knows you, this would not come as a surprise.
But you really have given me back my eyes.
We really are two wandering poets
of the same kin,
like goosebumps on skin.
(c) Brent Harpur, Feb 2015.