The old poet write by the sea, he scribble words to faces, places missed and gone. The radiant morning sun sun-kissed his face and he told the Pacific ocean. The poet’s wealth, remembering the sweet kisses he had gathered.
The great sex, the good drink and the beauty of the world become just a canvas for the poet to paint his words. He wrote to paper.
“Those kisses, the hands interlacing, the midnight moon. The soft chimes of the city bells aroused our hearts and all we needed was the embrace and the sweetest kisses.
You were my Agnes and I was your Hemingway. We loved the ancient cities, red sweet wine and the sea.
I loved to kiss the softness and whiteness of soft skin of your neck, whisper to you, you are everything to me my love. We went a million kisses deep and I wanted more.”
You told me often in the Spring of my youth. Let’s allow silence to show us calmness, let’s allow our fingers and hands to know. We need each other and let’s kiss till we cannot no-more. Love need reminders, kindness and gentleness. You are the love of my life.
Once blushing beauty stole my heart and the tragedy of time. Humbled my heart, when I learned. The blessing of love near, a thousand kisses shared become the poet’s wealth and everlasting memory.