Love Counts The Hours Poem by Mark Heathcote

Love counts the hours before it's gone.
O he loves me, he loves me not…
"What has he forgot", "have I lost the plot".

Love counts the hours before it's gone.
Every minute is another anniversary
"Love sings songs from my nursery days".

"Here's the church, and here's the steeple"
Today, I kissed the sunset of her rosy blush.
For no other reason than I felt I must.

"Open the door and see all the people".
Secretly - I wiggled my toes, kissed her nose
It's, then she slipped out of her bridal clothes.

"Here's the parson going upstairs,
The devil makes a play for all our woes.
So, we two climbed our very own stairs.

Here am I now, thanking all my prayers.
Love counts the hours before it's all gone.
All those anniversaries packed into fraying nylon.