our love and hate poured now in rhyme.
we come alive in the hearts and minds,
of men and women, who read my lines.
the stark reality of a love that can never be,
may now only be a reason and a source for me.
when random thoughts enter the dance
that my hands commence by chance.
the graces that a love–once pure–can now bestow,
are these emotive utterings that grow;
as i painfully write in poetry and prose.
a love forgotten comes alive–magnifies the loss.