The Poet and Love

The Poet and Love

precious thoughts drip from your soul

like honey from a honeycomb

onto the patiently waiting page

in long cloying drips and swirls

you form your words -

each noun and verb

and entourage of adjectives,

adverbs and conjunctions

all a cast in a play of words

with which you paint

the purest experience

of our day

their sweetness clings to our fingers, lips,

and whets our souls

should we lay bare the way

and let them in

the power you yield

with the words you wield

like a Samurai blade

our truth cleft from our lies -

words birth, at your behest

beauty and lust,

sensate and lush your bequest

we feel and taste in wonder

‘til all reason scatters

and shatters asunder

you craft a phrase - a luscious idea

and we are enrapt by the synergy

of our life and the fantasy you weave

there is nothing you can’t make us see

through your succulent

all-seeing eyes

nothing, save Love

for love is not born in us but endowed

like sight gifted the blind

by a power greater than we -

with no beginning or end,

Love exists in the realm of the soul

so euphoric, we, in its embrace

as wave upon wave

o’er our synapses race

the rapturous swells a sensate flush

of heightened perceptions -

the roseate blush -

the adrenaline rush

that never falters or fades

and with every fiber and sinew

of flesh trembling

we want to tell all -

be the writing on the wall

for others to see -

to comprehend

this perfect storm

what have we but words to describe Love?

the beautiful things seen with our eyes

all things, like gold, that glitter and gleam

the most precious things known

that dazzling seem -

that perfectly-played teary-eyed note

we wish would never end -

those few special moments

that seemed to make Time itself

stop and wait

for Love’s euphoria to abate

and leave us hopelessly, helplessly

smitten

though rich, your words never suffice

to describe Love

be they crafty device

or amazing and true

none blessed with more beauty

than the words that you use

none afford us the power

to imagine its essence true

for Love’s mystery lies past the end of the road

beyond the extent of our reach

and though we stretch and strain

heart and mind to grasp it,

its definition eludes us

for in between the atom’s

protons, electrons, neutrons and such

of all we can sense and feel

in the infinity we can’t comprehend -

in the meaning hidden betwixt

the luscious words that you write

Love thrives - alive

should it find us

Love enfolds us, yet cannot be touched

it moves us, yet cannot be controlled

it’s a gift to us that cannot be repaid

and, should we to share it,

it never fades

but leaves us with paltry voice

to sing its praise

we realize then, when our loves our arms enfold

Love is best when felt, rather than told