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