I have loved with all of the colors

I have ever known,

I have loved with each of the four

Winds that blow within a man's soul.

I have loved as ancient tombs,

As broken mournful stones

Hold ancient bodies

Silent in their vigil

And ever waiting

To feel the breath

Of departed passion

Singing through cracked teeth.

I have loved as storms

Flooding over mountains

Dark and brooding

And soon exploding

Full of fury rampant rage.

I have loved and been loved

In many, many ways.

Yet for them all, added

And and refracted with

Nostalgic eyes - Alone or

Totaled could make me stray.

I love you in a way which

Makes my hands wrinkle,

My legs weak and beg

In infirmity and age for

The aide of a cane. In

A way which makes my

Soul shrivel, in a way

Which makes me revel

In the thought of growing

Weak and watching your

Neck grow thin, your eyes wreathed

By the feet of fleeting crows,

Your soft hair brittle, gray.

I love you with the fertility

Of the cool damp earth,

The strength of an old

Rock carved with a pair of names.

I love you like a man

Loves a woman

When both are lowered

Side by side, into

Long waiting graves.

Xmas (Dead on the string)

I think with fury

At all the white windows

Breathy panes

Painted with winter

The frost fringe

Of glass doors spilling

Warm air and cold stares

Into the streets as people,

For once, for a day,

Pretend to care

About whose eyes they meet.

The vagabonds and vagrants

Panhandle and hustle,

Looking for change to make

Merry Christmas calls

To family's far away,

Their aunt in Atlanta.

Their dead and buried grandma.

As they settle in little

Scorched spoon dens

To let the warmth slide in.

We're all alone and not together

My family and my friends,

We drink sidled up to screens

Or half asleep in empty clubs

Waiting for the season to show

Us mercy, to just end.

All the little lights, Red, Blue

And green, just remind us

We're the one burnt and unlit,

Left dark and lone

Dead on the string.

Screaming At London (We will all be bound)

She said -on that big spired bridge,

Lungs frozen and full of that

Old Thames wind.

"I will not be bound!"

I am quiet

At her shoulder

Wrapped in scarves and smirks

Thinking she looks beautiful,

Screaming at London again.

I hear the hands turn

On that big old clock

Tying time in heavy knots

I want to tell her

"Oh but we are"

As we walk, skipping

Scree stones down Borough High.

We're here, held in thrall

Chained by the face

Of that force she so decries.

I keep my peace and pace

As the city swallows the night.