Thanks to the pan
that never says I can
not and brews my coffee
whose womb brings to boil
my tea which I love to enjoy
as I enjoy my love.........
after all toil.

Thanks to the sand
which helps me land
and
keeps me close
to the ground
which goes through the grind
to turn seeds to crop
saline sweaty needs to drop(s)
of desire
to swell to
galactic greed.

Thanks to the lady
whose dark locks...of hair
make my tired self
devoid of penning pelf
a little more pleasantly shady
long lost penner in me
in such an oasis of peace
may find ways more
than one, tortuously
brutal or serenely calm & fun.....
in that deep..........
pair of sight
get back his poetic might............
refurbish reams of paper
for readers' delight
culmination of which
is a space very niche
for him as a man of words..........
And his words find ways
through the labyrinthine maze
of poetic eternity.

Thanks to her imagination
my breathings witness congregation
my words meet conjugation
her lips...the melting pot
her ever palpitating heart
my mind mart...the poetic art.
In her liquid...fluid thought
I find fuel for my idea-cart
driving through long undulating
lanes and by-lanes of her desire
I love to meet the opportunity
to mingle in the
juicy depth of her poetic eternity.......

And, then lost and tired
munificently mired
forced by oblivion opprobrium
love being retired
on her lap-cot.