So here you are.

Mingled in with all my other far-fetched fantasies
Of composing epic poems and
Traveling to romantic cities and
Laughing much too loud over expensive wine

You have always presented yourself to me just out of reach
Unattainably attainable
Slinking out of sight behind the crumbling brick of my dreams

Could you ever forgive me for this poem?
My words seem to fall all wrong, don't they?
What do you expect though,
When you've made yourself so ineffable to me?

How could I ever describe the tender heaviness in your longing glances across untouchable boundaries?
With what words am I allowed to illustrate the wind rising sharply against the silent night where I stand alone in the trees and burn for you?
Is there an alphabet emotionally eloquent enough to depict our undeclared flame of devotion?

It's taken me years, but I'm beginning to piece it all together
Perhaps it's the way I can feel your eyes burning in my mind, though your gaze remains averted where you stand before me
Or the way you touch me in my subconscious with hands I can never hold in my own
Speak encouragingly to me with a voice I haven't heard in years, and may never hear again

Even as your path drifts far from mine, and numerous lifetimes pass us by
We can always meet again
At the Yellow House or
the Green Room or
the White Bed:
The places where you changed me.

And when I'm sitting in a bar drinking a glass of Chateau Lafite
Somewhere in Paris
Writing an epic poem and laughing much, much too loud

I'll take solace knowing you're thinking of me, too
In your own far fetched fantasies of what could have been.