One Saturday the words wouldn’t come,
though standing just outside
the blue,
this letter would let me
feel the beauty of her soul.
Gathering in her exhale
stark and bellowing
is such a contrast
to the gentle soul,
the missing affection,
lacking a resilient rapture.
Fixing ugly takes aspects of real
and lets the mind
wonder without resolve
just how far will this journey last?
Yet then the ceiling, that centerpoint
for finding form,
the touch of her hand
keeps me there,
standing outside her door
Saturday morning.
© Scott F Savage 10/2021
apersonaljourney - stories of love 