to have a human stir, letting awake
flood in, putting unasked long blonde
tresses leavings on your shoulder,
resting head upon the empty crevice
where your shoulder and arm dip,
requiring
filling,

to have a child read you to sleep, a partnership, and awake hours later
his hand cusping your chin, and that
sensation makes an old man go
knee weak
even forty five years
later

despite that the woman left you, claiming
a lack of fufillment?

and that child now a forty five year old man,
has excised you from his life, and doesn’t plan or attending a future funeral,

it is still your **best privilege

write of romantic love between
humans ~
my forte,
my essential oils,
write these words
from fingertips upon
a dropped ph-one-
two-too-many-times,
cell cracked phone

and the thought
thoroughs thru
me
coursing in my venous,
a long distance runner
who never looks back

there can be no haters here,
where all who love poetry
gather in a communal
service, a communion of
communication

it just cannot be:
that those who inhale
these millions many
words, and expel
the oxygen of trillions,
can offer up hate

it just cannot be
conceived

oh for sure
sorrow has an endless
litany, more names than
god,
pain, even its residual cousin
anger
I accept if it
the sum, summary,
the summation
of heartbreak and pain,

letting go, expelling here
is ok,
here, that too

but
it is not reconcilable
simply inconceivable
that we who put words
forthcoming forthright
to share, can sustain the,
that stuff that festers
biologically
into hatred of others

you know me,
heartbreak my
middle name,
oh yeah, raged
against the gods unfair,
or my loudly losing luck,
yet net, all passes when
words, heh heh, love poems
awaken me daily with a
“let’s go, we have work to
do”

nope no haters insight inside,
in this site
against the laws of physics which
can bend but never bebroken

long after these thousand days of
passing years, the eyes will feel a
sparking, I will remember you,
my dear old friends, reviewing
the where, the when, which will
flush, outing the whys
from my
memories

more than the poetic liturgy composed,
but what felled me to my knees,
yearning,
for the soup of love and passion,
pain+no gain, euphorias rising at the
trenching lows of depths
newly explored, hope returning after a
long time abandonment, the
excruciating ecstasy
of creating, the killing tedium of
months of no inspiration but the
glint of a possible tomorrow

but you knot all this,
so come to tell you,
long after the poem
encased in yellowing
emerald unwrapping
aging megabytes, more
than any old poem itself,
I wil remember what you
wrote in return, with insight
all we are, we are an interaction
a petrified yet living petri dish of
creatures re/anew,
r e n e w e d, and I am
young again

and the tears of yore no more,
fresh flowering droplets of
a longer than believable age,
factuals of the sweet,
you will move once
more, remaking me
your lover devotee

       and I wil stumble;
       the woman enquirer
       am I ok, whimsy
       respond never,
       never ever better
       my darling

and I lift a tissue
to erase the evidence
of my happy melancholic
existence, and start another
conversation with you, but no!

one of us long gone, name
erased, poems left behind,
orphaned children, them
and me left alone while
I will be remembered,
by remembering you,
our second of union

as it
reverberates, our amour
reunion is a wetting,
giving forth a burst,
a fluid sac,
again