The first poem I wrote for you...

If this silence is all we can muster--

sitting across the city
thinking of the other,

or sitting at this table where the warmth of our touching arms
is the only thing spoken,

or standing in the comfort of familiar arms encircled in a crowd
only echoing the other's patterned breathing;

Then let our mouths close on this quiet,
let these arms touch,
let us stand silent
and let this silence fill up year after comfortable year.

--mb