On this Valentines Day eve when I’m feeling more than a little disillusioned with romantic love, I will share a poem about a mother’s love for her son. Truly eternal.


In the languid night’s tender glow,
through labyrinthian processions
upon an infinite summer catwalk,
we glide beneath a banana tree canopy,
south of the equator where snowbirds go.

Here we are soul sisters once more,
flaunting our glittering gowns,
tittering, kisses flying
though jasmine-perfumed air,
enveloped in a gauze of unbridled bliss
until, within this splendor
no one knows where my son is.

Panic ignites a creeping ivy of dread,
blossoming into a frantic search
the way I searched the one time I lost him
in waking life, when he vanished
into the maw of a vast supermarket,
leaving me to frantically call out
for an eternity/five harrowing minutes,

his absence now a shadow that grows
with the passing years, perhaps a catalyst
for the portraits of Junior that surround,
each frame a shrine to the fleeting nature
of moments.

In his realm my son reigns supreme,
an architect of worlds,
weaving narratives,
parading his own grand designs.

2 thoughts on “THIS LOVE NEVER DIES…

  1. I guess there comes a time in life, and in the lives of many, that all that hard acrobatic fucking, sucking, and gaming must take a back seat or vanish in the fact of romantic love. That’s why poetry will outlive any and all pulp fictions, even those peddled on social nets. Thank you.

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