more poetry

Her Beautiful Lips and Innocent Eyes

sing to me with a delicate sadness,
but she is not my love-her heart belongs
elsewhere
-and rightfully so,
for she is happy there
I hope
and I am happy for her

I know I will find my own
to love
for living is sex
but life
is love and
someday
I will be eighty,
ninety, one hundred
and still laying beside the one
I am destined for
and will be happy, complete, and full-
filled with all I've ever wanted to be