I do not know you by the color of your eyes or skin
Or by their crinkle when you laugh or by the dimple on your chin
And we have never shaken hands or shared a cup of tea
Yet still, I feel like I know you like somehow you know me
We’ve never strolled the courtyard or paused arm in arm to stare
As morning folds away night’s sky in whispers unaware
And you and I have never wept together, though apart
I know we bear in unison the sorrows of the heart
How is it though we’ve never spoken face to face I hear
The wanting in a word’s embrace, the color of your tear?
And how, though we have never met, does love’s desire bind
In filament stronger than touch, this meeting of the mind?
I know you, simply by your sweep of pen across a sheet
Through expression of type-print thought, love’s fellowship is sweet
And though I do not know you by your crinkles, dimples, such
I know we know each other through the wonder of word-touch
© Janet Martin
It occurs to me as I read the words of other writers on other blogs and websites I feel like I know you, not with the familiarity of face to face fellowship, but that of pen on page...