I wish I could let go

And fall for a summer
Just a summer

Recklessly falling in love
And breaking my heart

Like what happened
With you

Every time I see a Map,
I look for your island.
Your lovely, rustic, historic island
The island which you shall escape
And I touch it,
As though,
To pluck you from the sky
And hold you close.
Five hundred fifty-seven kilometers
Is simply too far,
Even in peak route efficiency,
For me not to miss you.
I miss you
Albeit knowing
That mere inches of distance
Between you and me
Would not really make a difference

You, of the quiet consternation
And barely discernible presence

You, of the smooth disposition
And ragged dreams

You, of the floundering eyes
And expandable conviction


Your roguish smile
And your twisted games

Your striped shirt
And your quaint brilliance

Your strongly-lined jaw
And your oneiric glances

You chase my adjectives away.