Perhaps, I was a peasant in love,
a partly pleasant player
in the prose and poetry
that I present to thee
my cherished queen
of love laden dreams.

Perhaps, I was
the curious cockroach
crawling across
the curators
favorite canvass,
the portrait of our
beloved queen,
to be crushed
carelessly by
the callous king,
becoming a small stain
on the otherwise
unblemished
painting.

Perhaps,
before we past
parting ways,
pondering
old playdates
when we played,
I was your partner
in strange adventures
before my feelings
became too complicated,
before I became
the crestfallen fool,
the King’s favorite jester
who made you laugh
while I tore myself in half
for the sake of your wellbeing.

Now my twin wanders somewhere
out there
unburdened by the broken heart
and if you see him
send him back
so, I can be him
once again.