i am 48 years old, and i have loved and lost
so many times,
the pains that do not hurt anymore
come like trickles of rain not ripping any skin with
cold,
those that ripple sadness do not make any sound,
love,
does not intimidate me anymore,
neither does it make me quiver,
or long
for more,

i am 48 years old and had taken lust as creamer
to my bitter and black coffee,
stares at the window and never cares who gets
in and gets out of my door,
this room is empty
and these blankets are washed
as often as they get dirty, twice a week or thrice

and this floor gives the sounds of stilleto shoes
and hushes and moans, and there was no love
requiring a better sofa to lay my head upon,

or some romantic roses as accent on the blue
glass vase,

i am 48 years old, and still in love with you,

can do nothing about it babe,
memories bring more memories
like a stack of fantasies, and so here i am back to square one

writing you a love poem like tendrils of a vine
looking for the best tree to climb upon
until i reach that place where i can see you
sleeping in your room.
and i will be there for long
glancing

i do not wish that you love me too.
This poem serves the purpose.
It is just a matter of remembering.
How can i ever forget
You.Yes, it is still you.

RIC S. BASTASA

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-thought-i-cannot-write-a-love-poem-anymore/