June 10, 2008 
between each sunset and sunrise,
in those dark hours in which only
poets and thieves thrive
I have wrestled not with my
demons
nor have I allowed my
somnolent eyes lure me to sleep
I have labored in these
nocturnal hours
with the notion of trying to
discover
the perfect expression of
what I feel
for
you
The oft over-used word
bandied about gaily, freely,
and without
consequence
by those very poets and thieves
who roam the night is “love” –
a word stolen
(for poets are thieves)
and maligned,
misunderstood,
and made meaningless
by those who cannot
well employ it
I love the fragrant and rich
aroma
of fresh-coffee brewed
in the early morning hours and
I love the spontaneous
sound
of a young and happy child brought
to laughter quite unexpectedly
I love dark and cloudless winter
skies
where the stars shine bright
enough to cast
shadows at
my feet and in your eyes
I love to ride
my motorcycle
for miles in the cool night air
with your arms
wrapped around my waist
These things I love
I confess I am a poor
poet
and I have not the wits to
be a thief
therefore I cannot
lay claim to a broken
and barren
word that has
so many
meanings
that it means
nothing
What then,
shall I call what we share?
(c) Ron Sparks 06/10/08
The Binary Biker 
You shall call it “love” and feel chained by the seemingly inadequacy of such a small single word.The masterpiece that adorns the wall is not the small single pixel, it is the sum of the whole and your “love” is not the single monosyllable utterance but it is the full content of your heart, both your hearts together.Since I know of no school for poets and know you have no diploma of poetry hanging upon your office wall, I can still see by your words, your rich expressions that you are a thief of the night and you are a poet despite your denial.Beautiful words RonYour masterpiece.