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Love Works
Love starts where no words hurt,
where all hearts cry for lovers of sweet needs,
thoughts filled with smiles
and speaking love with slow words filled with hope,
the words of light
straight from the sky where the flame lights the mist.
Pictures endear the golden bowl files
lust, birth and friendship,
retrieving all of history's fathers
from sketches lining the walls of circles
hot with wet glue
shot out of a cup running and flowing.
An angel in the night
full breasts to grip and taste for the first love
where no fool gives
pure strength to men undaunted in the head,
filled with the truth
where true love grows; an urgent place to share.
Still they must beckon again their wants
lying in the flower bed
with such encasing needs deep in their love.
Late, they must whince at worries of a kind
and cry in weak grief,
in the first person of lonely functions.
Love breeds inside their chambers;
from truth to sex, til the old talking mood
comes to such friends.
No hurt, no lies, just lovers of their time
stuck to the moon
reclining in a pool of well oiled years.
Many years, huh? I'm there, and just waiting for the bomb to drop, so to speak. It is so surreal, that it feels like it is too good to be true. Many years. Now, that is a thought that I hadn't thought enough about. Great poem. Looking forward to reading more.