This poem only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

On the other side of the door,
Just a letterbox away,
I'm waiting for your smile to greet me warmly.

This one, small space is all we have,
A gap in reality
Where our dreams can be planted,
Where they grow and change,
Where they flourish under the sun and the stars,
Where our hearts can waltz
Like Fred and Ginger
And bring us joy.

What nectar is brought forth
When you touch me,
Fingertips to fingertips?
A thousand letters and a million miles closed
Could never touch this intimacy.

We have but this one small space,
A tiny window,
A kiss of soul upon soul
That is whisked away by a breeze on the letterbox moment,
Slamming it shut by the calls of real people
On either side of this heavy oak door.

Could I take your hand in mine
Through this narrow door in an oaken door,
A tear in the fabric between our worlds,
I would be graced with an everlasting smile.

There is no kiss on your eyelids
To greet you to the new day,
Nor kiss on your nose
To tease out a grin,
Nor a squishing of chests in
Our chaste-but-not-chaste embrace.

No fantasy can play out the need
To take you in my arms
For just a letterbox moment
And brush away the cares from your face
Like the tears from your eyes
That I see through the gap.

Love cannot grow in the way I might wish,
If I could understand what it meant,
Nor can it contain these odd whirlpools of sliding dreams
As they eddy and ebb on both sides of this door.

But I'll crouch here forever,
With my fingers holding open the letterbox moment,
Be you there or be you not,
And wish I had the key to the lock in this door.

This poem only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.