The Nearness Of You

The nearness of you I can feel
You're all around me I sense, the scent of you
Even though, I see you not I can sense you
The loneliness of my pen and I, as I sit writing to you
The lovely moon high above, intermingling with the stars
Lonely so lonely as me as I gaze into nothingness
High above, above me.
As my pen runs across the pages those pages crying for you
As I search write breathe searching you
Breathing inhaling the essence of you
Across from me the river that's flowing angrily
I, search you, I search up down across the river
That's getting as angry as me
Through the night, I whisper with a breeze flowing through
And in that breeze I whisper, I love you
Sensibility is not a word that affects me
For sensible am not, never been, never will be
But if sensible was I, sensibility wouldn't desert me
For I am as hopeless as the next person
When it comes down to sensibility
The dreamy dreams of my days
Does not bother me for I always been a dreamer, silly me.
In the days of my days, the nights of my nights I dream.
On your lap, I lay my head just to rest my eyes
Until I find myself sleeping, dreaming making love
Waking dismayed before your very eyes, you smile.
The romanticism of Poets is neither here nor there
They have an obsessive nature, everything must be as the see.
In a trance, like they look at you mesmerised,
When it comes to his lips I could feel I could kiss,
Words are hard to break through time and time again
And I so alone I care not to create new writings
Shouting crying smiling.
Those words may be yours or mine
Or together we put through
It matters not if there yours or mine alone
In my obsessive obsession, I need you,
To write our words of love you may need me
I'll always come back, come back to you
As Neruda extols I know not why I love, I just do        
If my dreams need's completing the memory of loving you
Words confounded words written in stone
Words Incapable of uttering I love you

By Connie James.