I love you, dear boy, I do

Now, you've read the poem, dear boy, that I wrote 

in the interest of clearing the vault

of all the treasured memories of you

that I've collected.  I made room enough

by being rid of those thoughts that only

trigger rapacious thirsts for your concept

(which ebb at high-tide and o'rflow my rim)

that kidnaps my love and ransoms it for

the quick release of intemperate pulp

on those nights I'm alone and far from you.

What is left, though, is sadness. To think that 

you are alone in spite of the smiles 

you give, and for all of your avowals

that you're "Okay." And, I long to grab your 

hand if only to pull you clear of the 

rubble of that unfortunate place that

you call home. I love you, dear boy, I do...