Oh, postmodern love…

Sold on lies? Told you those three words in confidence, eternally, with feeling. I don’t need a response, but your actions indicate your beautiful inner soul. “I am not a good person to be with, I promise.” “What is it, what can’t you tell me?
Is there another boyfriend?
Are you psychotic?
Are you on drugs?
Do you have a disease?”

Same date of birth, different years.

Are you bipolar? Is bulimia a lifelong disease?
Would you prefer to be a figment of my active imagination?
I’ll always be here for you.

[ The applause of leaves during a steady downpour. ]

Do you not want to be loved, thought about, dreamed of?
I want to show you love.
Are you self-centered? Am I? Is there anything wrong with that?

Do you either want to be treated like dirt or to treat someone like dirt?

Please come with me.

Wandering Epic

The windows of my time and yours—
foggy and opaque, open and shut,
lost and gained, drafted, sustained.
Dried out mildew, over concentration at the frame.
Subdued… I hear and see
but can’t fully understand
you through the garden veil that remains.