I do not write about you because I am obsessed.
I do not write about you because I am depressed.
I do not write about you because I am transfixed.
Nor Am I stuck on a moment.
Nor Am I quixotic.
Nor Am I holding on to the impossible,
The intangible,
The unrealistic,
The superficial,
Nor Am I, in a starry eyed Ivory Tower!

I write about you because you are real.
I write about you, because my love is unbinding.
And that love that I gave you so freely,
binds itself to the parts of you,
to the parts of me,
to the parts of we
to that parts of us
to the parts of love.....
To those parts I feel for you.

For the poet writes about his muse!
The prose speaks to the fiction and non-fiction.
Yet my ink composes to the kiss,
to the tongue,
to the salivary glands that once moistened the corners of my soul,
that were,
that are
.............still in love with you!

Does Fall not write about foliage?
Does winter not have snow to sprinkle its nakedness?
Does June not come with April showers?
Doesn’t divorce look at marriage with derision?
Does hope only come in green?
Can a poet write without a muse?

So yes!
I am stuck on a moment.
I am quixotic.
I am holding on to the impossible,
The intangible,
The unrealistic,
The symbolic,
I do live in a starry eyed Ivory Tower.
Because that is where,
-------------------------------- I hold all the parts of you,
which are now---
the parts of me.
That’s why I write about you!!!!

LeydisProse
5/16/2017
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse/