Butterflied stomach

I wait.

Clicking white keys

reminds me of her with

no reason for

their memory


the strands of

her hair woven

in my fingers

and my mind.

And there is something I want her to know:

You do not have to love me.

Because you are


not just your michaelangelo curves,

gentle brown eyes, or

soft tender lips.

Your beauty

goes down

to the bone. Tucked

in between the sinew and marrow

it resides

and I do not wish

that you should change.

For I would never hope

to cage what you are

to become something I made.

No man could make you

and your beauty lies there

and I am the same

no woman could create what I am.

But if you feel as I do

I wish you would walk

with me a while

if only to see where the path leads together

© Michael Barry 2013