But You Aren't Lost Poem by Mark Heathcote

So you wear a Saint Christopher around your neck.
But you aren't lost.
And you sure haven't been found just yet,
'Sadly not by me my lonely likewise -traveller.'
So let us not clown about, darling.
You are something unequivocally unique and profound.
I never saw a woman more beautiful.
Nor a woman so wantonly gazing into absent space
Into a nonexistent viewer's eyes
If only our fates could align, entwine, collide,
And bring us face to face.
I'd swap this tedious reality and this often bleak eternity.

To be by your side at your humdrum bookish place
But I wouldn't be staring into just azure space.
I'd be looking into the orbs of your dark roaming eyes.
I'd be clenching that bottom bannister ever so softly,
Looking up to the heavens.
I'd be admiring the curve of your body,
Which is still in an iPhone camera pose.
While you take off your floral satin night clothes.
Ready to be rediscovered. 
With nothing left to disclose.
I'd be your patron saint if you'd only
Pray to me once or twice nightly and be my unbridled rose.