forgive me

it just wouldn't do, merely
sexing you; it would be great,
of course, no regret, no remorse,
since you are da best, number one
on any man's list of requests,
but no, no, that shit is just not
gonna go, no way that it is gonna
flow; demeaning the gleaming
of you removes all the meaning
from what we have for all of our
teaming; so we have to find a bit
more space to retrace to the place
where we started, find out where
it was that our intentions parted,
look for what there was between
you and I that soared, that touched
the sky, and flowed, and glowed,
and let us both know that this love
was timeless, flawless, perfect:
something inevitable, quiet,
hidden, even circumspect;
a condition not subject to any
rendition, merely a state of being,
that gives us both the meaning,
of an all consuming love.



October 29, 2009, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.