*My scars did not lose her, my hurting did
And did not. I did it, maybe, maybe not,
Like losing that one breath over the essence
Of a weak-willed wind, kissing the sad waters.
I did it, like time wasted over saving precious time, like
One of two great doubts has finally believed
In the other, becoming a painful truth,
A shadow, a light, a boat, an anchor, a clocktower,
Like I fully understood a green-colored sun
In a coloring book. But what does it matter?
What veil could hide the melancholic moon
Forever? I love her, like I did, like truly now,
But did not, like her absence anchors me to sanity,
Like missing her was to teach the stars of something,
Something like geography or mythology, like hazards
Buoy me to the chronic pain of safety, like to free-fall,
Quickly, as lightning or the peregrin. I loved her,
Like failing to whistle with two fingers, like
Reinventing Miro's Blue Star at a canvas, over and over,
And bungle at it. I love her, like it means to love her now, like
The urgency of loving me when I cannot love myself,
And she did. She did. I love her, I know,
I only know, because I never did.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
*My scars did not lose her, my hurting did
And did not. I did it, maybe, maybe not,
Like losing that one breath over the essence
Of a weak-willed wind, kissing the sad waters.
I did it, like time wasted over saving precious time, like
One of two great doubts has finally believed
In the other, becoming a painful truth,
A shadow, a light, a boat, an anchor, a clocktower,
Like I fully understood a green-colored sun
In a coloring book. But what does it matter?
What veil could hide the melancholic moon
Forever? I love her, like I did, like truly now,
But did not, like her absence anchors me to sanity,
Like missing her was to teach the stars of something,
Something like geography or mythology, like hazards
Buoy me to the chronic pain of safety, like to free-fall,
Quickly, as lightning or the peregrin. I loved her,
Like failing to whistle with two fingers, like
Reinventing Miro's Blue Star at a canvas, over and over,
And bungle at it. I love her, like it means to love her now, like
The urgency of loving me when I cannot love myself,
And she did. She did. I love her, I know,
I only know, because I never did.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
