Why I think it’ll end differently if she can hear
me sing these words I lay to death upon paper,
I have no clue. But in her ear canal I hope for
a home to be found, for these syllable’s
aren’t like all else I’ve ever been able
to do, be wasted beyond doubt; yet for
why I want to wake beside her one more
time before death takes me back to the
realm where we go before and after
our time here, I will never accurately know.
It’s not like that summer fling we were
to share was anything worthy of Roseau’s
theory of romantic genius; or even Poe’s
tragic prose’s could bring to our summer’s
paradise anything other than what it was
to be. We experienced with each other
what ever kind of poison we could land our
hands on. Her moaning wasn’t exactly
a psalm for choirs to hum, but what do I know?
Except her skin was soft and smooth to
the touch. The way her voice crackled and how
she was always grumpy in the morning, ain’t be
an worthy of influencing a poem by even the
most down-and-out poet, let alone an anthology.
Why then is it her that is my muse? Her smile
is far from unique, quite contrary, boarders
on ordinary- so then does most of her beauty.
But it’s just the way she only allows the joy-
fullness of life touch her gentle soul. The way
in which I alone seem to see in her pupil’s,
the heavy loss of time she is meant to share.
So then I should count my lucky stars
that I was one of the men who was picked by her
to spend a summer’s season, let alone, simply
a one night stand. But even if that’s what she
desired from me, it was out of her control,
a deity destined us to have a long standing history.
But I can recall, through the vague haze of memory,
that it wasn’t all beautiful. That if a yellow
car hadn’t chaperoned us to the beach that day
in June or July, would we have ended up together?
I could spend an eternity trying to decipher
the truth behind the spell of which the elixir
of her life’s essence has over me and still be
no closer to the answer, so why do I bother?
I just need to know why it never ended the
way she said, swore, vowed, it would be.
Instead of a record for my birthday, like she
swore she’d go and get me, I received a surprise
like no other! Didn’t see it coming, instead of a
musical gift, it was the termination of our
romantic contract. So now then I am to always be
a vain example of a boy who longs to become, for her,
a man she’d maybe decide would be worthy to share
her life with; and to grow old beside, because it’s rare,
this time we our given on earth, she said. So then I need to be
true to her and show with time that absence grows makes the
heart grow fonder. If this has any truth, then she misses me
like the coast line misses the tide, & the moon, the light of day.