The grandfather’s chair

Whenever I sit in the grandfather’s chair
I dream what I wish for – that you would be there
in a disorganised muddle – I fuddle about
stumbling on affection – tripping on doubt

yet in your eyes I see a girl –
sweet and serene – as if you’re careening – 
I canoodle and cartwheel as I try to find meaning

we’re the what in the why and the how within showing
as I follow a butterfly on a leaf in a flutter
(like cream rising to top when we mix milk with butter)

you’re my sweet summer sunflower in polk-a-dot dresses
that fall off your shoulder under long flowing tresses
I reach out to touch you with the tip of my finger
on the nape of your neck is where my touch lingers

you are my red and my yellow – my green and my blue
the most wonderful rainbow remaining in view
the butterfly fluttering – always on cue
in the grandfather’s chair I dream only of you