Poem for her 600

Dear Readers,


Part 3

soft touches of the feather brush of fingers light
the skin so soft not hardly touched the linger
the finger nails rough edges hardly grown but there
sliding the folds and falls of the arm soft tickle
someone asking her to walk in the forest moss
someone to do things with and then someone to dance
with on the cold nights in the basement alone
dreams showed they'd be around and in the walking
talking and porch swing sit downs the house tours
soft drawings in this book with poems attached
would he look like a poet or would be one and be
different still need to kiss him.....


Happy Birthday Babe,


Charles.