sometimes i wonder
what life would be without you
& honestly-
the thought doesn't sadden me
solely because
the thought does not exist at all

i cannot in my wildest dreams
imagine another voice
calling me 'baby'
singing to me over the phone
or telling me to stop dragging my feet when i walk
i cannot hear
any other laugh but yours
when i say stupid things
i cannot picture
another face to wake up to in the morning
or another smile to brighten my day
any other eyes to sparkle in the dark nights
i can never even think
of feeling at home in anyone else's arms
being able to cry on anyone else's shoulders
not in my craziest thoughts
can i ever think
of kissing anyone else's lips
(they'll never taste as good as yours)
no one else's body
will ever fit the way yours does
with mine
& i cannot fathom the idea
of anyone else trying

because once you've tasted perfection
*how do you settle for anything less?

I sit to the left of a lonely man.
He is smiling wider then the ocean can stretch.
He is french.
Wrinkled.
Glowing.
We have come to the topsham fair.
Strange creatures pass and we gaze at them,
Talking about how funny or pretty or different they are.

We eat french fries.
He looks down.
"Your grandmother never ate skins on potatoes. She was old fashioned."
"You must of ate a ton of em then, huh?"
"Oh yeah, all kinds."

Two girls around 20 skip on by
Short denim dresses,
Bright red lipstick,
Candy apple shoes.

"Back in my day i'd be chasing those little girls all over the place. Now half the time they're chasing you!" I laugh
"Yeah, I have fun papa, not as much as you had though"
"I thought i'd find some old geezers like me but they aren't here."
"Well I'm sure they're around. let's go find some."

We get off the bench
walk a ways.
His cane clicking on the old tar.
We stopped to watch a young boy laugh on the pirate ship.
It swings him up high
He screams and giggles.
We smile up at him.
Watch his mother put hands to her mouth and heart attack.

We come across a bench with two grey haired men and an empty seat.
"Can I sit here?"
"Oh come on down!"

Papa, well,
He starts talking about the good old days.
"My wife passed away four months ago."
He talks to the grey haired men.

As they make conversation,
I realize, there's a reason us lonely men stick together.

We get it, Sometimes.
You just need to talk about the pain
like it's just something that happened.
If you keep saying it.
You can remember it.
You can be there for awhile.
Instead of here.
Instead of lonely.

Lonely men love stories.
We love hearing stories.
We love telling our stories.

If a lonely man tells you his story.
Listen.

The sun on my tongue tastes

like home, like childhood, like all the happy parts,

like warm syrup running down my spine

and my worn feet, on grass, thistles, bluebells, your bed,

springing up to touch the wooden ceiling

later to be found peaking out from the duvet

as I was waking up to rain early

and smoke from the chimney across the way

and looking over to see, on the night stand, steaming tea and sticky-sweet buns

that taste like the sun, and you.

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

I need
nobody.
nobody, that is,
other than myself.

I don't know.
I don't know,
what it feels like to love as a parent,
because my experience is limited by my experiences.

I haven't had the chance to experience parenthood,
however existence is shared by all existing things,
and whenever I observe the existence of parenthood,
Many things are shared with me.
Good and Bad.

It is here I begin to understand what a child is to a parent.

A child is like the sun,
to its parents sea.

The brighter a child shines,
the deeper its rays penetrate,
the layers of the sea.

And you may wonder,
How does the sun get to shine bright?

The sun gets to shine bright,
Through the love, understanding and acceptance of the sea.