I met her by accident, a random series of events that let me to known her and her me. She can make me smile in spite of myself. With her I am always on my toes. She challenges me, she inspires me. She makes me want to be more.

It was not at first a slow thing. Intensity breeds passion and I think her and I, well I like to think we had passion. Maybe it was a bit too much too soon. Maybe it was just meant to be more dream than real. I don’t know. We are not together anymore, we almost stopped speaking totally at one point. But, I think of her often now, I talk to her almost daily. We talk of the mundane, the silly, we complain, and we commiserate.

I think I may still lover her though I don’t tell her outright. Maybe one day I will. I expect she may even read this. I can’t predict what will be. At the least, I hope I will know her a long time. I sometimes feel, hope really, that she will in the years to come after I have gone remember me kindly and perhaps with some love.

I can’t help but thinks of Yeats right now….

When You are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, taje down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars

Technorati Tags: girl, poem, romantic, sappy, yeats

This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor,
all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what
was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response
likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all
diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling
and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of
love, white-blow and delirious nice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

This the nucleus–after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the
outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the
exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness,
sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

Technorati Tags: poem, walt whitman

To see a World in a Grain of SandAnd a Heaven in a Wild Flower,Hold Infinity in the palm of your handAnd Eternity in an hour.

Technorati Tags: flower, poem, poetry, wild, william blake