Torn in Half

It isn't sleep unless my arms
Can wrap themselves around your waist;
It isn't rest unless my head
Can lay itself upon your breast.

I have no dreams fit to recount
Unless you're here to tell them to;
My eyes see nothing worth the seeing
If I can't show you what they see.

Why read a book, if I can't share it?
What good are movies or TV?
Do you hear the music that I hear?
Do you see the sunrise where you are?

The sun for me is always setting;
Clouds paint over the moon and stars.
O bring me the sun in the light of your eyes,
And give me the stars with your smile!

—San Diego, California
10/4/2003 (a.d. 4 Non. Oct. 2756)