Walking through the summer rain

I think of you with your philosopher’s brain.

Our conversation is always respectable

And almost always focuses on the  purely intellectual.

 

 

Often I wish I could see

Behind your philosophy

And into your heart.

 

My poetry is part of me.

But my art

And all your philosophy

Are only part

Of you and me.

 

Is there more for me to see

Beyond your intellectuality?

Will I ever find the woman behind

Your clever chat

Of this and that?

 

Conversation runs dry

And I wonder why

I over intellectualise your opaque eyes

And what lies behind …