My Confession

Confess to you my inner most thoughts,
Is that what you need, to hear them?

I've taken for granted they were evident
Not something I do on a whim.

You consume each thought, each moment
From the time that I awake.

Lost in thoughts of us in the bed,
Things neither of us can fake.

Or how I wait to hear from you
A letter, a word, a text or email.

You consume my actions,
I do it without fail.

I dream of us alone, on a blanket,
Under the shade of a tree,

Nothing there between us,
Where we can be free.

In answer to your question,
It's beyond my control,

When the evening comes,
In my dreams its you I behold.

-- I.R. Shackleford