the drained urns of all that I have
learned, all the sharp corners that
I have turned, do not have enough
volume to express my love for You,
my long-lost soulmate, tu, mujer:
my one-and-only certain fate
is to be forever in your arms,
immersed in your magnificent
charms, setting off smoke alarms,
up to my elbows in who
knows what, but all that you've
got, and then some; your
winsome looks, those quiet but
deadly hooks, and all that it
took to find you is more than
anything before, and anything
that I care to remind you of,
but let's just call it an eternal
love, since it is.
October 3, 2009, for the Wifey, who has me, lock, stock and barrel.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.