I sat
this old fellow
quite quiet
still waiting
still beside
that same
old woman
pondering right
at the edge
of what was
good and left
of that
same
old river
watching desert
water
now merely
measured
as a melancholy
trickle
where pleasure
and lovers
together
once watched
love's tender
touch
water's mindful
rush
still love
wells up
with tears
fellow streams
in both
our aging
eyes
and in
our ghetto
hearts
mellow
pulling strings
so we
ultimately remain
anchored
and alone
still a bank
of frank love
and that
old woman
spelling
and calling out
history
and old love
still an ocean
of tears
motion
in our souls
and crying
eyes
and in
our emotional
hearts
love pulls
and tries
irrationally disguised
by hopes
and prayers
so many fears
making tearful
love
compose
sweetheart aires
recite
heartfelt poems
that only
sometimes
risk a kiss
seldom decide
or commit
to rhyme
mirror something
that is
joy and bliss
something
that is yours and mine

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