He:
The morning outlined pointy leaves of my cut-tooth philodendron
have small drops of water on them hanging gracefully
to the tip ends and reflecting the morning sun
playing in and out with the clouds in the east.
The air is temperate with the flat comfortable feeling
of convectional warmth wafting onto land
from the wide water Lake Superior stretching into obscurity.
This early quiet bespeaks a subtle lull in
human activity that pervades the air and gives
me a breath of respite before the arousal of my
blood in answer to days beginning and my
thoughts of you.
She:
In these moments I awake and find you by the
lake searching for the dawn
as the song of songs quivers
like a skimmed stone
a pebble washed
for a thousand days.
I watch the birds play come-hither
my window is my eyes
to the lake
a shapeless sun
that divides us
into day and night
of your love eternal.
How graceful your words upon my resting eyes
how fullness wept like an innocent child,
this is the birthright of water to our blood.
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
- makes me weepy 
