a level of compatibility that is
distinguished and ascertainablw,
it is so so more than
finishing each other’s sentences,

it is answering them, before
they are next to be spoken,
inducting a wondrous expression
that is a potpourri of amaze,
a beloving of how, never why,
a growling tender from back of
the throat, that speaks of come
hither, and a challenge, tell me
what I’m thinking, whispering
come ever closer,

all par for the early moments of
just awoken eye rubbing confusion,
we skip the hello’s and proceed
direct to my beloved, that never
grows yellowing just mellowing
after nearly two
decades

she offers me breakfast choices
well advertised, in a different
order, thinking I won’t notice,
which I pretend they are  entirely
nouveau, weighing the merits of
each before, of approving

a ritualistic only love poem of her
composing, though she reminds
lunch will be five ounces of onion
coated, cream cheese whipped,
and an assortment of fish from
the North Atlantic,
ergo, she is saying

go my
darling within your constraints,
for she knows the side to side
head shakes
my evaluation  and stil
agress agrees,
that I will bring but, another ember
long last heating and she rewards
my decision with knotted nods of

a certifying agreement, that my right
role of agreer-in-chief, has made a
wiser kinder correct(ed) contribution

See the profile pic
See the little girl
My baby grandchild,
coucher bouncer dancer,
now so much more
almost all grown-up

Who now knows to inform
Herself by reading words
In “hole” books, she reads
all by herself

So for a Chanukah
present, the doting
Grandfather sends
books, Quelle surprise!

The little charmrr
trained in both
manners and text tech,
reports in that:

* I read:
“Never let a unicorn
wear a tutu”
just right now.

So somewhere
an old fool tears
up, with a pleasure
immeasurable, and
****, he is thinking,
is this;
the bestus
onlylovepoetry
he has ever composed?

and her replies
in years yet to go bye
to himself will surely
arrive as follows:

“Old codger, do not be
a silly old man, not your
best but maybe your
purest love poem
from the joyous mixture
of tears and laughter
making you happily drunk…”

Mid-day heat beats down
Shingle-back lizard lazes
On old rotting log

Termite smorgasbord
Dinner in pink tongues reach
Warm sun lies above

Sweet Sixteen Years

<••>

had to get the calculator
cause this brain refused
this math,

2024 - 2008 ‎ = 16

yearlong furlongs
a dustance existential
impossibility:

She selected me from the
millions of riffraf looking
for a living romantic love,
which perhaps while
not a complete miracle,
but something, that had
been as elusively beautiful
as a running back shedding
11 tacklers and well,
scoring a touching down
(n.b. it’s a Sunday)

a touchdown elusive
and once thought,
a deluded inconclusive
belief from the realm of
music and poetry,
an aberrant belief
in a life of mundane
and oft much pain

that periodically stubbed
one’s toes with streaks of
sparks, but never was carded
for one who had not
learned
the definition
of longer
lasting,
open ended,
unimaginable,
genuine
to expect, believe
that it was a
validity,
nothing but a
legal fiction
never to be a word in
my finishing diminishing
vocabulary

there will be no candlelight
dinner, no popping corks,
no mad jewelry hidden in refrigerator,
maybe just some
outshine lemonade icicle popsicles,
a modest treat
for an e-xtra oh-never-ordinary
travelogue with no final
destination penned in
blue-black ink

for the record:

she picked me out,
she came late to
our first date,
and fully agreed
on a third date,
that commitment
was a pressure
neither desired,
agreeing with a
hearty high five

so here she is,
always a present,
always an available
sujet for one more
onlylovepoem
to scribe, and
complain
how a poet goes
on and on and on

which is a reminder to self
to quit writing too much
when there is still a
tomorrow to add to this
poem