there is no try, only do.

possibly,
you are a second skin
or rather
you are a dream--
all the most comfortable things,
you are a comfort to me
darling.

possibly,
you have always been there
rain-soaked and wide-eyed
greengreengreen like velvet,
because i feel as though we've grown
upward and outward from bad weather--
sunrise-like, we wake up
together.

and possibly,
we are wheels or words or whimsical longing,
something permanent or
perpetual
as i'd like to be;
although we are fleeting,
we only decay at our own fixed rate and
i feel very much as though
we could be less like clouds and
more like atmosphere.

[and quite possibly, i'd like to hear your voice again every time you stop talking.]