To the man I call my ‘love’
in the future
--
I know, I know —
’m not the easiest person to love.
And, yet, how easy it is to fall in love …
…
you and I,
hand in hand,
heart to heart,
my spirit likes yours and
vice versa.
Nothing is logical — in a manner of speaking — about the way we will meet, or
reconnect, even, over the years (has it been a millennia or two?);
’tis a tale as
old as time.
There was he and a him and a he and a he
before you came along — what took you so long, truly?
All these Mr. Wrongs
did string me along by
the wayside on
my way to your side.
“It was nice while it lasted,” came the souvenir of a T-shirt,
worn thoroughly with wet regrets, sewn with the thousands of teardrops I had
spared on your behalf.
They will not know ‘me’ as well as you do.
As true lovers will
do
me no madness.
Perhaps you’re out there, somewhere, finding
me too.
Writing a silent letter to mail to me in your quiet, wakeful hours,
singing, no, humming or strumming a love song which lyrics
shall only be sewn with teardrops of joy,
bliss —
a thing only you and I can tell when we’re alone
finally —
.
.
.
.
.
On a side note, what’s taking you so long
to arrive in style
