  Dear You, There is so much to be said. My eyes swell and burst into tiny raindrops when I think of the verses left to sing on my tongue. They are for you, but cannot escape their cavernous prison. I see a bird in flight, and my heart soars to nothing and nowhere. But it is the end of summer, the days grow cold and wilt petals that springtime opened with her soft hands. So the time is near, and my back turns to face the threshold of my far-off land. But before the sun pours molten red and purples over your visage one phrase is released from my lips. "It is not the warmth of your hand nor the heat of a kiss that says love from me to you, but a smile and your blue blue eyes seeking sanctuary in my dusky orbs. " From, Me. 
