paper chains

I have no
great supply
of metaphors
no lustrous words
all polished
and held ready
I merely need
desire, require
to string my thoughts
in paper chains
and strew them here
when nothing else will do

not a love poem

I wanted to write you
a beautiful love poem

but there was work
there was life
there were ideas that failed
there were hormones that raged
there were eyes falling shut
and frustration it grew
as I tried and I tried
with the time that I had
but the words wouldn’t play

so I stopped
and remembered
how you looked at me
when I flapped and I stressed
you said everything’s fine
(or words of that ilk)
and you kissed me and held me
and wiped up my tears
and told me I’m silly
but you love me anyway

and I think of your face
and my heart swells within
how unwordably precious you are to me
how unpoemably patient and loving you are
and I know that you know that I love you right back
regardless of poetry, rhyme or of meter

so this isn’t a love poem
just collections of words
telling you nothing you don’t know already
but just to reiterate, to make it quite clear
I love you
(much more)

poets in love

words touched words
ere fingertips
reached across the kismet
darkness seen
exposed and loved
though eyes had not met yet

souls entwined
with letters scribed
on each tangled tendril
hearts embraced
as stanzas wrapped
pulses soothed and tranquil

now combined
both word and deed
love poems penned on skin
in our eyes
with lover’s gaze
the message plain within

ink flows through
these fated veins
stains our home with colour
you and I
for ever more
a poetic wonder

For those new to my story, this is auto-biographical – Bruce & I met online via our poetry blogs, fell in love by words, and now live together very happily

mute words

I become mute
of the simplest
of my thoughts

I have nothing
that would do justice
to this tenderness
nothing that would
reflect the sensation
your words bring me
or the tingling on my tongue
from your oven-baked
poetry in food form
or the ripples
flowing through me
from the droplets
of your touch
moving ever outwards
filling me up

your words come
back to me
This morning
I reached for your smile
and your eyes
reached into me

and once more I melt

my practical, poetic, cooking hero
with beauty beyond measure
in his humble loving soul

words are not enough