To understand my love poems, you must first understand that two of the women I loved were caught in relationships with other men, and in each case, I was certain that life would end for me. Especially, because in each case, they were my best friends and time has proven this. The second time around, I became so guarded, that it interfered with the mere possibility of giving another woman enough time to find what it is that she liked in me. Those who wanted me to be with them, I might have hurt, but I did not know then that my life could be one again. They were good women looking for love or for me to love them, and I did. So, I wrote of their touch, their skin, and their beauty, therefore these are poems about them. I traveled, wrote poetry, and merely entertained myself with the beauty of a woman. I would like the reader to image an unrequited love, because as time went on I really enjoyed sitting in Starbucks in Malaysia, many in Japan, many in Boston, or Cambridge, and once there with a good cup of coffee, I wrote love poems. I took the high road, I imaged the possibilities, but I would not let anyone in, for love became magic, something to write about, for it was too hard for mortals to truly understand or maintain. One Night in Bridgewater, Massachusetts, I was doing a poetry feature, and the delightful person who asked me to be the feature that night, came up to me after the performance and said," that she did not realize how beautiful the body of love poems, I had written, were, until that night." Before then, I would read just one piece at each reading I went to, or at a maximum I would read two, and yet this night I had read 20 pieces. She insisted that I give the publishing world a chance to read them. See, "I had gone back to an old friend, Poetry." We dance upon my notion of love, and I then got the courage to read at local poetry rooms in Boston, and in Cambridge, in Tokyo, and In Kuala Kippur, and I became one again, so please enjoy. I have sprinkled a few non-love poems in this volume to give you a sense of the rest of the body of my work, and yet, to the love poem, I owe much. Alonzo Paul A. Dobson II2015