The Love
*** and love do  not always meet and as you get older
seduction becomes a routine both partners trying to
do their utmost and after coitus feeling empty.
I was 55 when I met her, not a pretty lady, but she had
alluring eyes, after a few meetings she invited me to her
house for a meal and the magic happened.
In her bedroom only lit up by the open living room door  
we became one body and I remember the silhouette of
her body soft and glued to mine.

Embraced we fell asleep and hours past before we stirred
we had achieved the wonder of having an ****** at
the same time. We tried again, but the moment was lost
we drifted apart; we had dreamt the same reverie, yet it
was worth remembering.

Waking up at 3 am
Wondering why you woke up so soon
Was it a bad dream again?

Daydreaming at 3pm
What's on your mind?
Hopes that will always remain as hopes?

Staying up until 1 am
Wishing that he would be thinking of you
But has he ever thought of you as much as you thought of him?

Oh!.
I forgot.
I only exists.
When you need me.

Isn’t physically quick or agile.

Disappears in libraries.

Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.

Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.

Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.

Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.

Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.

When my eyes are weeds,
And my lips are petals, spinning
Down the wind that has beginning
Where the crumpled beeches start
In a fringe of salty reeds;
When my arms are elder-bushes,
And the rangy lilac pushes
Upward, upward through my heart;

Summer, do your worst!
Light your tinsel moon, and call on
Your performing stars to fall on
Headlong through your paper sky;
Nevermore shall I be cursed
By a flushed and amorous slattern,
With her dusty laces' pattern
Trailing, as she straggles by.