Would it be too much?

 Would it be too much

to ask for this warmth of fidelity

like the saturation of the sun engulfing the mountains

or how the autumn wind kisses the trees

stirring occasionally, until the last leaf falls

Or will it be the woes of wonders

where unto the question of fateful lulls

like an owl basking under the moon, begging for slumber

while the stars peek quietly twinkling dreary dreams.

Could it be the clouds that fill these eyes, the answer?

But within the wake unclear, like a hazy orange day, 

it is the breath and the sighs that consume the earth's vitals,

like the essence of the breeze that climbs the crude cliffs,

expanding this cinematic chest like and accordion towards the

early sun-- a break of dawn that pries through the blinds--

blinding light

Would it be too much to ask for this warmth 

as I have missed those days when you do fill my shirts

with belief and affection--surreal, like the wake of the sun

unfolding its clouds--a twilight tease; Sigh, my eyes closed-

open-longing for those will sunny nights 

and moony mornings

-- a forever I'd want with you