I love writing about the allure of romantic love, the total infatuation with another human heart. I am inspired by past and current love, love lost, new love and love that lasts lifetimes. Every day is Valentines Day for a poet.

a better today media
she believes in old religions,
fountains of youth,
goddesses of love and gods of war…
and that maybe there really
is a singular soul
who exists only for her.
I met him
when he was an aged man.
I was young,
full of fury and fire.
Life had not turned him cold..
He was soft and warm
and felt like home
We are the oldest
of algorithms,
solving all of love’s
habitual problems.
Our bodies fit
like the sum
of numbers too difficult
for simple people to solve.
We are complex and intricate,
our own little equation.
Meet me where the clouds
kiss the mountain tops,
where only ancient rocks and valleys
will whisper of us.
Like a backyard astronomer
I’ve been waiting for you
for millions of years, waiting
for your cosmic pull
to hold me in your heavens
and love me.
He played his guitar
for her on the hill
by the magnolias.
The song ran antiquitous
through her bones,
and brought them both back
to better times.
Will they speak of us
in whispers when we
are dead and gone?
Will they wonder what has happened
to our quiet lover’s song?
I hope the chairs stay empty
and cannot be replaced
by other smiling faces
holding hands
in love’s embrace.
Like a dusty doll on the shelf
she waited for a passerby
to notice her loveliness.
He found the beauty
and breathed life into her again.
And when he was gone,
she held onto the breaths
within in her.
She could never repay him for that.
Stay here with me.
Don’t be just another chapter.
Be the hero of my story,
the happy ending
in a world full of tragedies.
Breathe me in,
undress me with a stare,
and then make me forget
any lover
I’ve ever known.
Take me to places
we’ve only read about.
I want to exist the world with you.
She gives herself away
by the throbbing of her heart.
He feels it right through her skin
and loves her like its the end of days.
Happy February to all the lovers, because we have all felt the wounded and the healing power of love. In pleasure and in pain, love connects us all.
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