I want your hand but wait!
What is that? Do I see
a muted fluttering in your heart?
That’s normal, you should know,
till you know what love truly is.

    

In the morning it burns,
just like an orange, rising sun
but you can always close your eyes
and revel in the warmth,
like the lush foliage of a tree!

    

In the gray, melancholic dust
of the evening hours,
when birds return to their empty bowers
and human engines throb
to shift their paradigms,
a single hair’s breadth would seem too far apart!

  

Then the last line of dialogue, often just implied,
in all our nightmares might become,
“That is not what I meant at all,
that is not it at all!”

    

So I say, alright, let it be,
how is this more painful than a forsaken dream?

.


 

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