Found In The Parasol of A Lady Loved

Found In The Parasol Of A Lady loved.

©-MFB III

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My Dearest Inspiration,


In this cubbyhole

tucked in your parasol

left outside the shop

you frequent

on the corner
of third and forlorn,
I've etch my

wingless soul's
dreams of soaring,
in long swooping loops,

gathered on parchment
from the tip of
this feather quill
that once knew flight.


Dipped in the midnight
of one mans darkest voice,
and scratched out on
parched paper

for you to cherish.
I was tempted to
write it in blood,
to send you

the very essence
of my heart's

most precious fluid,
just a quick slice,
and a small collection
of a most vital force,
a sweet release of the
pounding pulsations,
any view of you causes me,
when you draw near.


But you might think of me
as profane, or strange,
and I would become
nothing more then a cobweb
in the dark attic of yesterday's
possibilities in your eyes.


So I've sent you these thoughts,
wrought with great trembling
in hopes that they move you.


Move your eyes in

long measuring looks,
your smile in an

upward curve as I approach,
your hands in an open

invitation to join mine,
and perhaps a merger

one day of our souls,
flying together across

the endless heavens of love.


Until then I will remain,
Indescribably fond of you,

Love, Heathcliff

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