Poetry just might be love
     or just so the other way around.

I tell you,my dear
a day never passes without,
     (well hardly a day)
without a thought or two of
you and you and you,

bound as we are
      by blood,
              by tears,
       by laughter
or some common dream or enterprise.

You sing in my poems
       and my neurons fire for you.

Either I love you because I cannot forget you
       or the other way around.

So, my love, I offer you this poem.
      (So, my poem, I offer you this love).

*December, 2015