Holding

My words are like gnarled arthritic fingers.

So many of the beautiful things I try to capture
Slip away.Painful and fumbling.

The way you sleep, baptized in the dawn light.
Makes me feel young and hopeful.. and forgiving even of my own weary flaws.

I long to be able to sketch or paint just this one image.
Because when we wake, time will begin again.

Grinding this perfection to dust. The dust that has slipped between my broken words.
The perfection of you that slipped
rite
off
this
page.