A memory of you, lying as to be painted in my lap
Contouring my body with your own
Your eyes, the darkest color of Boquete coffee beans from Panama
Sharing my muse with you, as you used them to navigate the map of my face
I broke my pen and let the ink find its way to your nose
I exposed the blood of my heart, which you were lost to notice was this ink …
… The very same ink
My pain wanted to show you it was nothing to be threatened by
A lovely muse left captive in the tower of my whole being
Never to cause anyone pain, or leave me for another
A somber symphony to spend a quiet evening with
A blessed friend that always had time for a drink and reverie
The presentation of passion being paramount to that of just the physical
(The tangibly, ‘simple for you’ to easily recognize as the delectable fruit of my affection)
… Failed to reach the shores of your reason
Alas, my true muse, the “Essence of Being” … the “Passion of Existence”
“La Bella Vita “
Never made your acquaintance
As you were, ever beautifully (nonetheless), unable to grasp a past for me
You would have me born the day I met you, and claimed the crown of my passion
The mantle of my most high muse
But ahh my love …
There can be only one
She will always live quietly … softly, pristine in the tower
And I shall hold onto the honest hope
That one day …
I may indeed rescue her