a toast

here is to the moment
I don't understand
the string of statements
you've put forth
in our conversations

and here is to the channel
that sometimes serves
as barrier to our
written moments

I won't tell you this -
this motion you create
in my day, like wind
whipping wide a slightly
opened door, like a strain
of melody coming through
the cracks of somewhere
and slips in to wind
around the self.

I won't tell you this -
this ruckus you make
as you mentally storm
through my mind
turn over points of view,
establish your presence
with a bantering self,
and cause chaos
equivalent to
an earthquake.

I won't tell you this -
but, you make my day.