Love Mostly

Let’s show affection. I’m not pretending.
Let’s make it real. Our friendship extending.
On you agreeing, I am depending.
I hope this suggestion’s not offending.

Liking you, could take to the next level.
In this much cared-for stage, we could settle.
I understand you want to be careful,
but sometimes, with your heart, you must bet all.

My promise; I will not leave you dismayed.
And your affections, by me, not be ‘played’.
Winning you over’s no ‘smash and grab’ raid.
My wanting you is unlikely to fade.

So, some kisses and holding, to start with.
If I’m too presumptuous, please forgive.

The male gaze is a well-known perception.
Looking intently, even if briefly,
at someone ‘fancy’. It’s an inspection.
Obvious, although surreptitiously.

Females will look, too. Perhaps more discrete.
A raising of their face, or eyelids, do.
If more direct, as if there’s words to speak.
Perhaps with longing. Maybe, asking, too.

The look is the basis of connection.
Basic aspect of appreciation.
Could well be not much time for reflection.
It’s swift processing of information.

What’s next, of course, would be something to say.
But the look sees the initial display.

What do you think of a poem from me?
A gift of literary complexity.
Alluding to your beauty I can see.
Of my love for you, my testimony.

My purpose be to set off a time bomb
to cause an explosion of affection.
Passionate words of truth, can bring that on.
I admit that would be my intention.

So, accept this poem of mine for you.
You merit a truly fine eulogy.
And I have been known to write one or two.
Inspired by you, and one of mine can be.

It might not be as might be expected,
but you would not go uncomplimented.

Love, I suppose, needs more analysis.
Although this perspective is limited
to the division that is often missed,
but in behaviour is exhibited.

The nubile, the fecund, stage of desire.
Exerting itself, the fertility.
To make a baby, its drive does require.
An urgency in the virility.

That does not mean, for all, it will be so.
Just that this phase of Love has its presence.
Then, later on, will ease and even go.
Replaced by more mature post-pubescence.

That’s caring, companionship, age-friendly.
This, second phase of Love’s identity.

A kiss. A golden kiss to say goodbye.
A precious kiss with this love, I so love.
Who so loved me. Love that will never die.
Just have to cry at fate saying ‘enough’.

But will always be remembered by me,
while I live, and into eternity.
That soft face, and those deep eyes, such beauty.
So grateful for the time that spent with me.

The gift of love that gave, I recognised.
Included final snuggle to my chest.
The Love mutual, sure was realised.
And through it, our deep feelings were expressed.

That golden head, with its spirit, I’ll miss.
So so precious, and precious too, that kiss.

Enjoy her embryonic poetry.
Expressing herself; not too subversive.
About loyal love, what it seems to be.
Internal thoughts, in that are immersive.

Yet say in poetic code, her feelings.
Goodwill she has, spreading, although focussed
Personally within her. Revealing.
It’s feminine love, not sexual lust.

But joining the words in a way cursive,
one may understand the poem’s purpose.
But careful in the way that discursive,
so not ascribe wrongly ‘inner circus’.

Not heard all the poem, but seems enough
to consider it’s about loyal love.

Never see her at the meeting point now.
It has been a long time since the last time.
Nothing, I think, to cause that, like a row.
But, maybe, she’s felt it not worth her time.

I did recite several of my poems.
Some of which were attributed to her.
Perhaps, were thought not appropriate things.
Of that ilk, not want to hear any more.

But I liked her. She seemed very friendly.
In that way, formed almost an attachment.
But could be, that was not desired of me.
And so her non-presence no accident.

Would not read more verse if she was to show.
Simply say, “it’s great to see you. Hello!”

There is a lot of love in the wellspring.
A natural expression of feeling.
Exuberant and exhilarating.
Inner quality of mine, revealing.

Aware when full. Adds to my wellbeing.
Easily overflows into kindness.
Hugs and kisses, not only when leaving.
Goodwill, the predominant interest.

Not spill to soppy or sentimental.
Romantic, but realistically.
Is a part of living, elemental.
Its subject of great interest to me.

Its object, too, I dare say; making love.
If allowed, taste here of ‘heaven above’.

That pink and white billowing dress you wore,
was how you presented at the event.
Its promise to me was that of ‘amour’.
And the prospect of that was excellent.

That powdery blush that enhanced your face,
and the rouge on your lips, so kissable,
were perfect, I’d say, for the time and place;
for the celebration unmissable.

You standing up-front accepting my ring,
following the rituals, making the vows,
if not real, would take some imagining.
Your beauty. My luck. Me, bound to arouse.

The desire; the passion; there to express,
you in your pink and white billowing dress.