Sifting poppy seeds
Through your ashes we await
Your blazing return

We look, we lust,
We listen, we laugh.
We love

She leaves

This poet is well past his prime
And is losing his ear for a rhyme.
I’m starting to drift
Cause I’ve just lost the gift.
Look at THAT -  It was there all the time!

You didn't get a valentine
Nor a supermarket rose,
We never sipped that vintage wine
Or read romantic prose.

You left before I told you,
I threw away my chance
To have you and to hold you:
I’m ******* at romance.

The end was tranquil
Her eyes remained open wide
To mirror my tears

Your ancient frame failed
In each of our minds you are
Building your new home

My Vellum

Alluring and demure
In your virginity
Never yet
Creased nor crumpled
Your tight young corners
Remain stiff and pert
In their newness
Your long lithe sides
Tense for my careful touch
Lest blood be spilt

My gold nib
I dip
In midnight ink
Piercing its surface skin
And lift

It drips
One

Two

Black
Secrets
Back to their bottle

My hand is poised
Over your pristine smoothness
And with calm precision
I carve broad majuscules
That twist and cut
To hairlines of breathtaking
Intimate intricacy

Quick teasing serifs
Long lingering descenders
Strokes of tactile
Joy

Then stand back

Empty
In wonder at
Your calligraphic beauty