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Poem

Love, you and I, being all love's essence, shall grow old
Older than we are
And yet never be a black hole like an old dead star
And shall invite with candlelight, you and I
The world to dinner or to tea, with some honey from the sky
And they sitting with us, sup with us
To warm their cosmic loneliness away

Love, their leaching eyes will milk us for joy
And thrill more when my stiff pen caress
With a compass of confidence, the nipple of a word on a breast of page
From this point wet with joy
They will hear you read to me, and I shall read to you
Tongue full of poems like a tender picture framed
Lisping the memories under your name
And memories of jealousies dead like Methuselah in our head

Love, perhaps you will tell the flower petal of your tears
Forgiveness no one remembers, for we have no sorrow here
They will ask us how, curious to go to bed
And we shall say that those who said they are sorry never loved
For where forgiveness comes first sorrow never blooms
And you perhaps will me again
That trust grows here, my dear, and forgiveness 
Is just a little dew we use to freshen up the leaves

Then friends shall say good night in peace, and we to bed will go
Nothing between us, not even dusty spread
To shutter us from the melted night
When we shall hear the angels trumpeting our dreams
Unraveling the music that love writes into little streams
O love, sweet shall be the promise of our heart
The tender succulence of lips that fed us this repast
This voice shall wake us, and dew will touch the buttercup
And we shall say, I love you forever
Joy forever of my heart.

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