Allow Me To Love You
the way I cherish
my books of poetry,
hold you in my hands and
stare at you with the passion
of a child’s first Christmas gift,
touch you with the tenderness
of my dreams;
and after you resolve yourself
to my trust . . .
I’ll open your sacred life
and loosely as a leaf falling,
touch each page,
live what your heart
reveals to me in nouns and verbs
of your imagination.
I’ll sit and hold you in the quiet of morning,
listen to you
beneath shades of lamp light in the mellow night,
carry you faithfully through the day
and share you with only the park bench
or some oak tree
that loves the touch of my back.
I want you
more than an empty page
needs the written word,
more than a book cover seeks its title.
And with a stroke of this pen . . .
I give you my heart—
bound in chapters,
bold, underlined sentences.
Poet’s Notes: In this poem, I wanted the reader to feel special--so special that a poet would compare the reader to his book of poems.
Editor’s Note: Even the best poems about romantic love are tough sells these days, but this one comes across as sincere, nuanced, and passionate, and has a beautiful poetic conceit.
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