A love poem for Terry Collett
**** it, not a single word affixed,
and tears come gushing, flooding my cheeks paths,
into my mouth comes the salty outpouring
my nose blubbery, it’s hard to type
when you can’t see and the tissue is
engrossed, engrasped in your only
good writing hand
a lovely Sunday by the Atlantic coast,
listening to 60s folk and rock n’ roll,
mostly love songs of seeded sadness,
simplistic so many tunes of heartbreak
long ago planted in our respective souls
each one reminds, restores,
a heart poking,
all your recollections penetrate,
as if I was nearer to thee,
and I too, weep,
missing your Oliver
be advised there will never be enough poems
to make one/me not want more,
for ****** you, these love poems into my interior,
learning from you the human
how
so much more than
the when where and why one loves
a child resolutely, absolutely
for each child the unique reasons differ,
but never the
how,
for you, of this,
are the the poet exemplar
this makes me weep
for so man-many reasons,
strangely, a stream of delight
runs sweeter deeper within my tears,
for which I thank you
with this
love poem