Dear Barb:

A six year obsession mounts,
Into a mental volcano;
At its mouth it cannot denounce,
These words I must let flow,
With remorse, I shall not renounce.

It is sometimes his hidden frustration
Whose words you taste, so thoughtless;
Then thinking he has not the passion,
When his anger is displaced, so heartless
In ways that should not be fashion.

For feelings can only lock bold,
Silent, without your touch,
Night has within its hold -
Pouring forth, with so much
Where our eyes and mouths unfold.

Warmed by the spice of your smile,
Which opens the ruby of your soul
And the accent of Brooklyn, awhile,
As your inner gloss will cajole
The depth of that softening mile.

Though a gem of diminutive size,
You've a giggle and gait whose wave
Is like paradise in your sepia eyes -
Its hushed like throbs I'll save
In the voice of my cerebral skies.

I haven't the chutzpah to call you,
Though I lay at night with only
A drop of fantasy that grew,
For your body's cloak, so holy,
Estranged, like our love lives, too.

And so now, Love, you see,
I never felt that way,
Whenever you'd wend by me,
Torn from what I might say
To you, whom I made so unhappy.

In closing, I'd just like to say
I wished we could've been there,
Where we're inside each other, today,
With what we can feel and share
In a world without yesterday.