My Love, you do not exist.

We lay together on a bed of clouds

And baby’s breath.

I fall through, into

The grass outlying the track

I have run far too many times

I have broken the cycle, but

Now standing on the outside

Watching

The bustling pedestrian peoples

Going about their days as

Though they amongst

Seven billion people

Have somewhere to be

That can be considered

Important.

But we as humans do not

Default to this altruistic perspective,

When I dream, I dream of

You and I

All that can be

If

Si

Le conditionnel

I lay dormant

Daydreaming.

We could share the warmth

If time did not enjamb

Himself in the alignment

Of things,

If my voice were not

Choked.

Forward I look

Over clocks and dials

Return my heart to flesh

Light shines through boards

Incubating air that begs for

Your love and an

Apt repair to my lost composure

I don’t know when it began, but

I know that for six weeks

I had been ready to tell you,

But I wish

I dream,

I plead,

That I could say that my love for you is

Unlike a rose of salt, topaz,

Or arrow of carnations,

But like a never blooming flower.

My verse pales in light

Of you

In light of

The song of despair

White bees know

I try my best

I am Florentino

Holding onto promises

He made himself as

The leaves fell from the trees

Watching his beloved pass on

Her way.

You claim you croak, but

The whole race sings in

Sonorous song, though

We all feel as if it were just

The hummingbird and the rose,

San Juan nearby,

And we wade into

The rippling water

As midnight moonlight

Chases fears away.

I brush along

The soft river, pressing my face

Below the surface to wash

Myself clean.

I fall in, and at the bottom

Pass through to find

The colt bolting through

The wood at the break of dawn

I try to ride along, but

My shirt is pulled

And I know, I cannot

Stare forever at mirrors

Wishing to find what

Will never be there.

So I dress in red

And scowl my face.

When I am not your lover

I smother you most.

My restless heart and wily mind

Fall prey to obsession.

My verses run to stanzas

More bountiful than

Hairs on the heads of the people

Of the world,

With the worth of

Half a franc each.

I see a fountain

And the water runs dry,

The poet wrote words at

It’s base

With roses

Pink, red, white, black

Birth, passion, wisdom, death.

I lay in the pasture waiting

To end my grazing

Wishing to wander,

I do not wish this on you.

My love, I do not wish to

Weigh you down, or

Make myself to be another

Worry for you,

I write my song to

Remedy

You and I.

Oh, how are you not yet

Drowned?

Drowned in the downpour of rain,

Words soft and gently soaked

In pain.

The strings in the chord

Stand separate, though ring

With the same music,

And I wish,

And sing for you,

Though it maybe

A song unrequited.