The day you called me by her name,
Fear took root in my heart—
A quiet dread of losing us,
Of love slipping into shadows.

Enthralling – the vanished fragrances; my olfactory senses
are akin to a daisy, each petal plucked accompanied by
a murmur of “if she loves me, loves me not”

Her scent – sends sparks of shivers through me;
a fragrance bold enough to fill the space, gentle
not to drop it all.

My dear, is that very scent that ensnared my heart.

A love my soul knows it could never claim,  
A heart that I still long for, yet it feels no flame.  
Though I wished them to be,  
They will never be the one for me,  
But in solitude, I whisper their name.  

A heart full of its own shame, I can only weep,  
Tears shared for a love that I long for, but can't keep.  
So, with tears lost in my eyes,  
I gaze at her beauty, as it lies,  
But in solitude's arms, is where I sleep.  

A love that’s vast as the sea,
Yet good men to her are scarce, you see!

I sail by her side, I stand as a mate,  
In daylight, we share laughs, it's great!  
But when night starts to fall,  
I weep, feeling small,  
For a love that I cannot create.

thus concludes a text
from a dear friend whom
I have never met, but this a,
concluding statement is
both convulsing and
uncontained

autumn is a her, a self-selected
gender unique, that picks its
own pronouns, pronunciations,
for women greet us with
warmth+chill skill
combinatory, to
make ordinary
our daily green
reform into
a multi~variable aristocracy of colors,
a forest of expressions,
each a statement leaf,
stating look at me,
I’m transformed, resurrected, disguised,
though essence unchanged, for
I am the possibles of ad
infinitum and I am:
not-nearly as potent
as the sparks of god
within a human being

3:58am
10-20-24

It seems to be;
I walk, where your legs tire
I sing, where you forget your melody
It seems to be;
I have lived for you, when death was pasturing your heart
I have built for you, a world full of nothing but art
It seems to be;
I have not been there for myself, all this while.