Dear reader

I am wet with red death
wed to time’s inevitability
and all that is left of the true me
is here for you to read.

So, you should know
my beloved book lover
this weary word smith
must admit
that I love you.

I love you who
are here now
working with me
or against me
the sad, angry,
bitter, and lonely.

And I love you
who have yet to come,
the newly young,
the unborn babies,
the teenager
who will feel
so alone
but might find a home,
and solace from my verses.

And I love all those
who will never know
my words.