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The faith that surrounds
your beauty and my pleasure
it shines
it prescribes
the mercy of your measure

The hope that emerges
from the contours of your smile
it soothes
it endures
the posture of your style

The chastity of the moment
lies hidden from my touch
it blisters
it belies
the fragrance of your clutch



Pete

Dear Pete, When I first read your poem, I mis-read clutch as dutch (see, they look just alike). I thought you were writing language poetry. Pretty deep, I thought. When I took a closer look, I saw what you had really written. Arent't you glad you didn't write dutch? That would have made a pretty confusing poem.

Hi Bifocalled
It does look like dutch, doesn't it?
I'm glad you took the time to read it again.
I hope it still retains its depth without the need to cross the borders.

I've just noticed your nickname.
Bifocalled.......are you seeing double?
Sounds double dutch to me.

All good things
Pete

I enjoyed your poem, Pete....as well, as your play on words with Bifocalled. Led beautifully into that, didn't it?

Hey Pete, that's not bad, thanks mister...