When while a day goes quietly the nigh
soft hearts may ponder a delicate noon-
time pleasure. That is the moment inside
a dream slow to respond, yet urgency
calls upon a name to satisfy sweet
melody, a caress, play, we digress.
For when might anyone ask forgiveness
upon simple words, golden, a sparkle
of intent defines passing encounters.
Each streaming ray of hope dances our brows
well toward jest’s enigmatic interlude.
-patience beckons a rare emotion served-
When then we bask in the moonlight of love
we know surely, our lives are drawn above.
© Thom Amundsen