Blood, Bone, and Soul

Even though we have never met, I miss you.

I long for you the way the earth longs for warmth in the winter.

Blistered are my lips from this weather,

I contemplate if there is something far from deader.

They say you will find me... all I have to do is wait.

Eternal, it seems, that time comes to pass.

How shall I spot you?

What makes you different... or what will make you different?

Not another petticoat that passed my palm.

Not another pair of lips that I have merely grazed.

What will define you from the rest of the gentlewomen?

Your body? Your voice? Your spirit & virtue?

Every single one of these mention that they are different...

That they are unique and unlike the other squaws.

Perhaps they truly believe this-

But they truly are different... to a certain point.

Maybe the sign I'm waiting for... is no sign at all.

You will not say that you are different.

You will not say that you are unique.

Nor will you say that you are the same

or straight off the assembly line.

I assume that your actions shall do the talking.

As well as your tender words.

Like a match of chess, I will have to calculate my move.

Will that deter you... my calculations.

What if I was bold and brazen?

Shall that overwhelm you?

Everything is concealed in a fog of uncertainty at this moment in time.

Not blindness, but an outline of things I do bear.

I think the answer to my dilemma is...

I'll work with what I have to find you... or wait for you.

And I will use what I shall acquire to be with you.

You will be the one who accepts me... blood, bone, and soul.

I will do the same.

And we will be one when I have aided you in your goals... and you have aided me in mine.

That is how I will know.