The History of Love

Like sunrise marks the start of every day
The history of Love is rays of time
The sun may set, but Love, my love, will stay
Its history repeats itself, sublime
It rises in the east, with warmth and light
It brings the birds awake, and makes them sing
It kisses every flower in its sight
I love the life that Love will always bring
But Love is more than history can tell
It fills the world with angel’s perfect grace
The only place that angels care to dwell
Is heaven, held within true love’s embrace
Like sunrise at the start of every day
Come give angelic Love to me; come stay.

Muse as Lover

I think of her while music’s in the air
And wine is fresh upon my tempted tongue
I need to hold my muse, to touch her hair
Erotically, her song will still be sung
By me, her lover, by the words I feel
I take her to the edge of beauty’s pain
The words she gives me there are more than real
The strength I show her there is not in vain
She knows my love for her is not just verse
She knows my strength is hers and holds her fast
Like better love remains through life that’s worse!
Or lovers find the present through the past
The love that ties and binds us as a pair
Will go beyond the words I want to share.

The Grace of Love

My heart is like a song I want to sing
I think I found the right one, grace for grace
She came to me like summer follows Spring
I still can feel her comfort’s warm embrace
She kissed me, and her passion matched my own
I didn’t plan to fall in love tonight
But now I know her grace, I should have known
That loving her would happen, and it’s right
The song I want to sing, that’s in my heart
is rhythmic, like the heartbeat of a man
who wants to be in love, but not apart
from her. I must devise a graceful plan
To be with you. To call you mine. It’s true
I found your grace, and I’m in love with you.

Rediscovering Your Love

Too sweet to leave alone, I need you near
I’ve been a fool to push your love away
Your love for me is more than crystal clear
Like sunshine at the start of every day
Too warm to wake when sleeping by your side
Your heat is comfort; night is never cold
I need your heart, your hands, to be my guide
To lead me to your joy, like purest gold
Too beautiful to hide my simple face
I need your beauty’s kiss; I need to be
Within the precious warmth of your embrace
There’s more to you than even I could see
Our love’s forever; this is how I knew
The sweetness, warmth, and beauty which are you.

Your Words

The words are new to you and new to me
but bonded by emotion there’s rapport.
I wish that I could touch, could hold, could see;
I wish to give you something, something more
than wishes and the distant touch of voice.
But overwhelming happiness for now
is in the words we share as we rejoice,
in every sound that’s uttered.  I allow
my heart to burst wide open and embrace
the memories of touch; I held, I saw
your hand, your kiss, your precious, precious face.
Forever is a well from which I’ll draw
the memories of then and now, the love
within the words your words remind me of.

Unsure

You shake and cry when pleasure is intense;
you shake and cry for what? I thought I knew.
It must be something deeper than I sense
when I’m a million miles away from you.
You shake and cry behind the thinnest veil;
you shake and cry and tear the veil away,
my mind absorbing every small detail
in hopes to hold forgetfulness at bay.
I hear you in the distance, like a storm.
I see you on a page within a book.
I smell you like the rain when it is warm.
I taste you like the fish can taste the hook.
I break the solemn silence with a sigh,
unsure what ever made you shake and cry.

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Occoquan Park

The tree is small that overlooks the dark
and shining water drifting to the bay.
The picnic bench and swings denote the park
which gives the boys a place to run and play
while you and I trade love in every glance,
in every gust of wind that catches hold
of anything: our lunch, your hair.  My chance
to shine is lost, like ripples in the gold
reflection of the tree.  I hear you sing
into the wind of fall without a sound.
The boys have climbed the tree and now they bring
to you the childhood visions they have found.
There’s life, there’s water flowing to the sea;
there’s love that clings to every autumn’s tree.

Bathsheba

She hates Uriah, always off to war,
but fucks him when he’s home, a simple thing.
It helps her some to think she’s just a whore.
It helps her to attract the lonely king.
She sluts out on the roof; Uriah’s house
is just across the street from David’s throne.
The heartless bitch has always hoped her spouse
would die in battle, leaving her alone
to spread her legs in what she thinks is love
for any lover she decides to buy
with poor Uriah’s money.  God above,
if only he’d be quickly sent to die!

And David, fool of Bethlehem, complies
and wins Bathseba’s “love,” a paltry prize.

Love Scene at a Small Cafe

Her mouth retreats behind a steaming cup;
our first impassioned kiss is washed away
by tea.  Her savor shows; she glances up,
our bliss now intermingled with Earl Grey.
Her lips escape the smooth ceramic touch
of that which holds a warm familiar taste.
She smiles at me.  I think she smiles too much
with just her mouth, with lips my lips have traced
too soon.  The waitress breaks my fading trance.
I order eggs; she orders eggs as well.
We smile like some obligatory dance,
but now her eyes have fixed the broken spell.
They flash with passion’s promises; they shine
in this cafe, forever hers and mine.

The Curse of Love

Say “love” again; pronounce it like a curse
that curls your poisoned passion in a ball
of naked flesh.  Your spell becomes perverse
the moment that you think the word at all.
Say “love” as if the power was the word
or, like the scars and wrinkles of your skin,
bears depth.  Such marks can only be obscured
by magical futility.  Within
your shallow beauty, stretched too pale to hide
the malice of a life of seething hate,
there beats a ghostly pulse; your heart has died.
The spell of love you utter is too late.
It trapped me once until my soul discerned
that love is nothing given nor returned.