Once winter dissipates into the ocean,
And spring’s benevolence swaddles New England,
I am lured to Boston Commons.
There, while reclining on a grassy incline,
I like to watch the pretty people pass me by.

Women,
With flowing hair and designer jeans,
Gracefully amble through the park.
While men,
Decked out in pompadours and plaid shorts,
Smile and give them the eyes.

On days like these, love’s glamour is on full display.
Two pretty people identify each other,  
Wink, nod, and then exchange telephone numbers.  
Within minutes,they become entangled in each other’s arms,
While seemingly a fanciful occurrence for some,
Relationships present themselves to pretty people with ease.

As I immerse myself in Boston’s spring animation,
Waiting impatiently for my love’s nativity,
I cannot help but envy the blessed few.
Sometimes I resent them,
But on days like today,
I respect them.
What it must feel like to have the world in your hands,
And to be among perpetual love.
What it must feel like to be truly alive.