There was never a time
that he could not love,
only long periods of years,
decayed decades,
when the could
could not,
for he had forgot
from lack of practice,
daily vitamins taken of soured love,
which is a polite way of saying
sneering hate, distrustful makes,
and hard calluses and body armor
make any human tin man rusted and
cowardly lion afraid

and later,
after loneliness turned him
sweet and sorry,
when many wanted him,
to love them for
why not!
he was a desirable object,
in possession of a fast red jaguar car,
a job that left him money for gas
and summer trysts,
a ruggedly handsome face,
which he shaved daily,
and the right kind of patience
in things that woman love,
like Joni and kissing
head to toes,
on a
round trip ticket
with unlimited stops in between

and

using words that seduced,
that were intended to ******,
though he did not intend to
make them love him more than more,
yet they did....

he appreciated them,
with kind and cherish,
and just happy gave just enough of him for them
to take as their own,
and they loved him for that...
but it was hollow bridge in spaces that
needed filling, denying completion,
or safe passage

gave them gifts unasked,
jewels and poems unique,
valued them in the ways
they so wanted,
and deserved,
but could not love them
free and clear,
which is all they wanted -

for he was not
free and clear
of broken memories...

one by one,
they left,
no one to blame,
broken is broken,
Oz was a bridge too far
for him to cross

years later,
muses buzz like flies
around his head
asking buzzy questions,
demanding poems of clarification,
apologies of sorts for his inabilities,
dissatisfied with rationalizations,
payment for adoration given
and taken but inequality in love
is still a crime of sorts

and he tenders this in consideration,
years too late,
not an apology, but a thank you,
for those who said you are a
good sort, worthy of love,
and restored him in ways
that gave me the confidence
to let the whole later be filled in....

He was abused, but never a user...
now, clear and clearer yet,
his poorer faults were later his greatest riches
once gained, easy shared,
yet
here he is years later,
tinged with regrets and mea culpa's
and asking himself
for forgiveness of those for whom,
he
could not be enough

did not know what to title this,
for it is an explanation and a plea,
a thank you note written on bended knee,
many titles came and went,
some with guilty, never and could not,
prominent in their bookends

but then it was instant clarity
for it was a tale of how,
he rebirthed an ability to love a
woman true and total,
and thereby
himself,
thus celebrating those who gave their teaching trust
which he cannot ever properly
repay
except to note that it is 3:00am years later and
I
write of thee,
and how you taught me to speak
a language glorious