If I knew I had only one love poem left to write,
if that poem would be the one to end my life,
I would want that poem to be about you.
Golden memories resonate
between the tines of my heart and soul;
humming like god's tuning fork.
Lesser love I had known too much,
faulty love that fell to the ground,
flapping vainly, like a broken-winged bird.
The love we made was witnessed by angels
hovering low above our heads,
kissing us softly with feathered wing tips.
Heaven opened itself to our perception
with fiery-mouthed passion,
and love itself was like naked water
sliding effortlessly over our tongues.
This, then, would be my last love poem,
words carved into my head of stone,
my heart the chisel that drove them home.
Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012