Sometimes I see a stranger,
in the coffee shop, or in the
grocery store, and I think
that is what you must look like
in person-scuffy, hard-working,
big leathery hands,
jeans and boots, a hat of some sort.
I wish I knew, and pictures
of you show only the eyes,
but the eyes are alive, clear blue
and I see you in them, the you
I used to know, when we would
drink underage,
hold hands in the backseat,
kiss on the couch,
listen to the Cult,
me driving that silver Sentra
and I see you now, the you
I am beginning to know,
the Godly, grown up,
still struggling you
the you that said you want to
grow with me, and if we can,
it will be so good.
I will wait to hold you, and
for now, that's fine.
I still have your eyes.
