I only want to write of love
If I might ever be able to re-create
Such absolute moments of earlier presences
As I sit here, with ease of time
To reflect, later in my life
I don't want to write specifically of those times
Rather I want to explore what is in that thing
Called love; love that flowed freely through
My veins and right now, as I sit at this table
What is in that thing called love
That brings me to another joyous embarkation
I am not tired of love, but I am tired
Physically, and mentally, tired
I begin to doze behind the wheel
I enter that dream space of love
Between existence, pre-existence and post-existence
The motorways I travel are loves endless corridors
A space where past memories happily co-exist
Beside the soundtracks of Motown and Woodstock
Would I benefit from a warm massage
To luxuriate in the love of oils, aromas
Atmospherics and the surer love
Rub of soft skin on soft skin
Would that shaft of sunlight
Falling on to the green trees
Of a north country castle morning
Would that, and the clear blue sky
Be remembered every time I hear
