by Dee Newman
I want to know all about you,
What makes you feel warm and happy,
What makes you feel sad and blue,
What makes you feel warn and crappy,
All the secret wishes you want to come true,
The moral stands for which you will die,
The attitudes that turn your nose up,
Questions which may compel you to lie,
Where to touch you to curl your toes up,
And make you want to wail and yell and cry.
I want to know who you really are,
And yes, who you would like to become.
I want to know if we’re similar
In any way that would overcome
What visits may lie between few and far.
I would like to know a fantasy,
Your most recent hidden mystic dream,
One that really tickles your fancy,
That makes you contemplate the extreme
Of tumbling head long into ecstasy. . .
(with someone, perhaps, a bit like me).
Though, it’s you I want to know about,
All of you, the in, as well as, the out,
What will make you smile or make you pout,
What will make you sigh or make you shout,
What will make you trust or make you doubt,
What may make you want to do without,
Something, only your journal knows about.
I want you to know my tenderness.
The ease of my touch upon those spots,
That are tight and taunt and tense with stress,
Those seemingly untie-able knots,
That so need an affectionate caress.
Above all, I cherish my friendships.
But, I want you to know what you’ll miss,
If my hands and arms, my mouth and lips
Are never there to comfort and kiss
You – when the pulse of life so tightly grips.