To the love of my life

I know now why i do not write about you:
because i write about either things that have past,
brief flashes in the night,
or loves that with most surity fade from my life.
i do not write about the things that i think might have some permanence
less they, sensing my resolve, flee away.
Words make reality concrete.
When ours is cast, set and hardenend,
i suspect the pen and i will talk.
Do not assume by my empty pages in the book of you that you do not
mesmerize and inspire me.
love
dhs 10.16.05 7:20 p.m.