Love And Its Desserts Poem by Lonnie Hicks

There was before me
the carefully prepared plate
the feast of feasts
and she said
'this is my love.'

The dessert was
jubilant
and she took
from the oven
pie after pie
and I ate.

But how to say
that Love's Substitute
is not the meal I eat
nor are the biscuits
the Love I crave
even tho it's the
love she's got to give.

If the Love Train passes
in this night
who to say where
those passing trains
will curve back
and meet
at some future point?

She says I can only give
you the love I have to give
and I say but I need the love
I need to have.

Try as I may
dinner is good
but I'll not be able to see
that it is love of which I dreamed
even though it is the love you
have to give.

So loving her as I do
I eat
too much
and see her love
grow
each year
around my waist.

But that is the measure
of how we take the love
sometimes offered
even if it is not the love
of which we've dreamed.

If perfect love
would come along
maybe I'd not be worthy
even as I crave
its perfect tones.

So perhaps
I'll substitute
her deserts
with a hand-feeding
of celery sticks
and love-making
in the afternoon.
Humm,
does that work?