'Tis MOST delightful LadyWind.

Sadly, nothing brings the artist out of the human quite like the presence....or the absence....of their Muse.

Nice poem .

nice poem

I dreamed of a suitcase tag
you had writen on.
Your sister treasured the trifle,
like it was a love note.

But you never packed a suitcase,
or said goodbye,
nor left a note.
But you did write well.

On repeat, I dream you are not dead.
You mysteriously hid from me for years,
to take a long breath
and have a little space.

Yet, I detect a wrongness.
Your eyes play Russian Roulette,
I stare into the twin barrels and know,
only one dream in six gets them right.

Did you leave me a strange gift?
Not a lovenote, nor a suitcase tag,
but those haunting night terrors
where comfort is fast and fleeting.

I would wake you and hold your shivering body.
Those goosebumps, were feathers
pulled one by one,
leaving you wingless and ashamed.

The few you left scattered on our bed,
I ought to make a dreamcatcher.

Dear Ladywind, just in case you thought your bottles were unread, or fleetingly so... others before you sent them. Don't forget, I did not write this to you, he did...I could not possibly answer this with anything of mine...

How like a winter hath my absence been
From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere.
And yet this time remove'd was summertime,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burthren of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lord's decrease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or if they sing, 'tiss with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

Shakespeare 1609

Hey Ho Ladywind, how can you say you will never love again? You clearly do. Just make it up as you go along...

Yes that counts. Of course it does silly

NICE