Love, I cannot say that I am impartial.

I am not.

I think only of you and of your sweetened kisses,

Speaking of which, why are you not here to remind me!

Why I’ve forgotten all about taking my morning dose of honey!

This could go on for years and by this, I mean us… Why hasn’t it already?

For years you’ve been taking my tap-shoe ribbon,

untying that which, frankly, does not belong to you and never did…so stealing

and all this to slide-up my slip to see such nutmeg freckled-speckled thigh;

these are your constellations, love; this is your Big Dipper ~ here on my hip.

These are your Pleiades, your Orion.

You never tire of running your finger to trace, connect the dots.

Do you remember that day at Parangon when the others had all left

and we were sticky with summer’s humidity.

How your touch made all the downy hair on me stand-up;

you knew then I wanted to be kissed and kiss we did!

And after, after the all of it, you fed me pared and ripened pear, Anjou rich

and I could smell the perfume of it on your hands.

God, I miss you.