I used to occasionally write love poems
like the one below,

but I don’t write love poems anymore.

Maybe because at age 81, age and
disappointments have drained

the romantic love out of me.

Maybe because I see writing love poems
as a weakness, pining for love,

and feel I should be above that longing.

Or maybe I’ve just given up on love and
am more aware of the fact that

it doesn’t last.

Divorces and breakups put an end to it,
but Death is the ultimate spoiler

that ends it, kills it, unmercifully.

Bob Boyd

Loveliest of All You

I love how our love is growing as effortlessly as a flag fluttering in a gentle breeze.
I’m enraptured with each increasingly wonderful moment we’re sharing.
As the world keeps turning, my heart keeps turning toward yours,
and the spinning stars keep twinkling with joy for us in moonlit, romantic skies.
As the sun keeps becoming brighter blessing our sacred union,
the moon keeps growing fuller magnifying my increasing love for you.

I know this is something more than just mundane, romantic love.
This is like a cosmic happening with our stars finally aligning,
our destined souls finally uniting after so many incomplete loves
when our preordained love seemed as distant as a lone star in a faraway galaxy.
And I felt so forlorn throughout my life never finding the truest of true loves
that I finally found in wonderful, beautiful, loveliest of all you.

Bob Boyd