Your name is still in the contact list of my phone.
It was the last place I heard your voice, the last place we connected. There is always that hope that the phone would ring and your name will flash across the screen. The silly things we do to keep holding on.
When you are old and grey and full of sleep, nodding by the fire take down this book and remember the look that you once had, eyes in the shadows deep.
I have loved your moments of glad grace, loved you with loves, both false and true, I can not help but to love the pilgrim soul in you and long for the sorrows of your changing face.
How lucky a man am I to have been loved by you across what seems three life times.
How lucky a man am I to have felt the warm of your breath across my cheek and hear you whisper, every so gently, the words “I love you” in my ear.
How lucky a man am I to have felt my hand upon your face and seen the life in your eyes.
How lucky a man am I to have walked with you, even briefly, through this life, to share just a few moments with you.
Comment ma vie a changé ce jour j’ai vu votre beau visage sur le mur,
Dans mon coeur que vous toujours avez été,
Puisque la nuit d’été chaude vous choisissez mon âme,
voir votre beau visage,
voir ces yeux bleus,
sentir votre amour,
Et merci pour tous vous m’êtes,
Je amour vous,
Marie Claire.
Do you sense my heart calling out to you?
I so miss your face, miss your eyes so blue.
Longing for your touch and kiss,
and your voice, your words I miss.
How did your travels go Dali girl?
Did you see the mad man?
Perhaps you met him before your travels began.
