Being your first love cannot be
described in words, you just
had to be there to understand.

But to also be your last love after
so, so long apart is somewhere
beyond infinity that simply cannot
be expressed by any words except
by two: first and last.

Love is the most healing force in
the world, nothing goes deeper
than love.

It heals not only the body, not
only the mind, but also the soul.

We both knew it. Time, distance,
nothing could separate us because
we both knew it was right, it was
real.

And the reason we have stayed
together in our minds is because
we give each other something that
nobody else can.

Every love story is beautiful but
ours is my favorite.                                               Jon York      2018

A letter...
to you.
But what would I say?

No.
Stop.
Don't touch me that way.

At least that's what I should've said.
But I just lay silently instead.

Thief.
Coward.
A magician, for they don't see.

The hurt.
The shame.
The mark you left on me.

Love isn't real, violets aren't blue, and roses die anyway.

Armies of words gather in my head
To march so boldly onto the page.
They work their wonders
Who knows how?
Why they pick me as their channel
For their landing craft
I’ll never know.

Some accident of birth:
Genetic fluke –
For which I take no credit –
Makes me nectar to these ants
That line themselves into verse.

Compulsion drives me to write
As salmon must jump those water falls
To return to their spawning grounds.

I have to speak, or rather type:
Express myself
No matter what,
Whether good or bad.

Is there a cure for this affliction of mine?
Can I ever stop myself from writing?
I very much doubt it.

Paul Butters

© PB 16\11\2018.