true love

thought I might be gettin'
a little too
too much like
too much time
spent in the embrace
of the tropical
so I took a cruise
down all memory's rivers,
looking for all of what
I have had to lose,
extra baggage,
love's lamentations,
and the 1980s baby carriage,
all the stuff,
that I had accumulated
that vanished,
as I sat emaciated
in the Massacre of '08,
too late:
surveying the damage
just makes me quake;
and I am left at the feet
of the startling realization,
that I have given up
more than I have ever had:
I am in the red now,
except for the fact
that my soul can still sing,
it can damned well carry
a tune, and it can scamper,
and scurry, and make a big
flurry, and no one will notice
anytime soon;
turns out, that what I've
managed to amass,
is more about makin' love
than gettin' a piece of ass,
and to be real honest with you,
that pleases me a lot,
and it puts me with the few
who are less concerned
with the number of passes
they've made,
than the number of hearts
that they have laid
in the shade, and given comfort
and solace, and all that is good,
every one of them, perched
in soul trees throughout
the neighborhood;
and I whistle,
and you worry,
and my heart is as red
as a giant Bing cherry,
and the crowd watches,
with anticipation,
and the whole thing gives way
under the weight of an elation,
that though I may leave
without much of a prize,
I leave with the gleam
of true love in my eyes.

February 27, 2010, for the Wifey. ♥

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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