Posted: Jun 29, 08 2:04pm

I`ve learned to write

and express myself in ways

that makes so many feel what I`ve written

was written solely for him or her.

Perhaps it was a gift

that took years of practice

and heartache to develop.

Or perhaps it took years of heartache

to practice.

I simply don`t know.

I only know there are

so many poems and lovesongs

that I`ll not write

because you found your dream

with someone else.

There are so many joys

I`ll never experience

nor tender moments giving myself

to you ,completely,

since you went away

that certain summer.

There are no dreams

dreamed of you,and me,and us.

Nor will there ever be

those sultry nights you`d chase

my nakedness

down moonlit Florida beaches.

There will be no more me

and who I was whenever

I was there with you.

There will be no more love

in that unique way that I love you.

And though it`s certain

I loved again since you,

there`s never been

that abandonment we shared

those “once-in-a-lifetime” mornings

of our youthfulness,

nor could there ever be again.

(I was the first in your lovemaking.

You were the first in our lovetaking.

Remorsefully,you were the first

in my heart`s breaking---

yes,I`ll always remember you!)

And,so,there are so many poems

and songs unsung

I`ll never write nor sing

because of you.

(There are even the children

I sometimes think about

we might have created

had I`d been so rich or influential

as to excite you with myself.)

There are those moments,

those special seasons of ourselves

allocated only for ourselves

I,nor anyone,will ever see again.

There is nothing

but at least those moments

and seasons that we had---

always within me to touch

and be touched by

in these autumn days

and rainy morning moods.

At least you left me that.

No,I shall never forget you

nor compare you with

other loves and other lovers hence.

For,all things considered,

I know now the difference

is only within me,

and maybe within you.

And each is special in a special way.

Life and love

has always been that way.

Perhaps it always will...

---Rick James(I wrote this 10 years after she left.That was 30 years ago.I never saw nor heard from her again to this day.This poem,these feelings---it`s like a dream,inasmuch as we are both light years away from who we were then.Funny,though,how the hurt still hurts...)