My love is virginal for her o’er time,
It’s the same whether morning, noon or night,
My only regret I’m not in my prime,
I’d not sit here with this poem to write.
I would clench her hair and draw her to me,
Cover her mouth with mine for utter joy,
I’d pull her down and sit her on my knee,
And laugh at her for playing so coy.
We’re not the first to have loved long distance,
We do what we can to make it all work,
Our loves’ built up sort of a resistance,
Eh . . . I care not, I feel like a young Turk.
©March 15, 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton
~ If they give you ruled paper, write sideways. ~