That Perfect Seed

To wait, to stand strolling the world with your mind,
Earth beneath you, pushing you to attend to something grand,
Touching the dust in your pocket, your fingers feel the only world that is,
The counting down till, is filled with those walks you take in your mind,

Coming closer to the time of encounter with the moment meet to come,
You imagine the world that will be in the next couple of minutes,
The anticipation kills you,
The expected image may disappoint and that makes your fingers sweat,
The dust now attached to your finger, your steps take your heart in circular shapes.

Awaiting the greeting time, you struggle with your own fear of saying bye,
Simplicity is all you praise but your approach so complicated all the time,
Correspondence of two minds, the authenticity you offer is too much,
Games are played and games are played thus,
You have to pick up a stick and swing a stick.

How should he communicate it to you that he dreams of the perfect greeting time,
When all you anticipate is the time of goodbye?

Its only been a minute in this valley we call life,
Its only been a drop in this pond set cause of a dam.
Coming together slowly, but answers and seeds fruit soon
and you by necessity will never be satisfied till that first perfect bite.