Should well have known that I was truly asleep,
Sat next to you,
And you next to my hallucinations of false maturity,
With both of us by chance reading Blake,
And me understanding that both of us were then looking for some romanticized outlook on life.

And the fact that I was so taken back by your taste,

More so how beautiful you were,
Clad in white and for once sitting still.

32,000 feet above the lot of you and examining the strands of cloud, looking down and wondering just how safe I could be.

When can you start to discount coincidence as no such act of random encounter,

Instead start to look at fate and decide that this is a risk that needs taking...
///
Cutting through the grounds of sacred legislation and mystic men in Brooks Brothers suits,

So far from Hollywood, but matching 1929 *** appeal and romanticized images of gilded ghosts of America.

How do you keep all these agendas upon the people who claim to be the freest on Earth?

You making your living on collective barriers—

Has never stopped me from taking to the skies and leaving my confusion in the clouds,

All my worries absorbed by the cold cotton ***** I have no option but to soar through.

What better time to admire the rapid bloom of countless species of flowers I cannot match a name to...

And a few that I can,

But the same land which facilitates our growth has sectioned each plot to keep me away from the plants to which I'd harm.

There's no melody behind parasitism and this pollen isn't treating any of us well anyway,

Yet beauty is so timeless,
So radiant—
Too many questions for the roots that hold you steady.

How do you avoid the trap of a cosmic blonde,
Intellect twirling and coated in subtlety?

Has anyone ever existed in more eloquence,
Perfecting all you care for in heightened precision?

It seems you sleep in the studio,
Next to my mind,
Throwing off the perceptions any on-looker might pull out of your air...

Defenseless, no matter, to get caught in your charm.

At the forefront of this new wave of substantial beauty.

Thinking I'd outgrown this sort of nervous musing on my late nights,

How could I have known I'd fall under any spell so suddenly...

Russian Duchess of Glory,
Chilling precision behind every turn,
And here I am cracking a joke because I can't even waltz.

Anna Pavlova,
Can you see yourself in the full scope of your beauty tonight?

Can we both stand to be witty,
Or find it easy to live past thirty?

Why is it always more elegant in the moonlight,
Regardless of the action,
From East Europe to the sad blue East Kentucky...

Have you once looked me in the eyes to judge how honest I've been in reading your history...

Oh, Anna Pavlova,
If you only knew that beauty would hold weight in modern reincarnation.
///
Still I wait for your autograph.

You who I dare to look upon through seldom borrowed books.

And if you pay regard at all,
To any of this, that is,

Then how much will you take hold of,

How long can you maintain your balance...

And are your pirouettes more acts of orbit

Or simply spinning out and away from me?

Seeing you walk on mirrored images I dreamt in moments of pain,

And thinking that I one day would hold your hand in meadows and on top of the Eiffel Tower,

Yet I was so far from you,
And that, you could not bear.

There is comfort in our separation, as you've blossomed within love.

No opportunity for me to disagree if you are happy, secure and warm in the gravest of circumstances.

I feel you here with me, God knows your caring hands could still scrape along my face.

Who wouldn't imagine the infinite (nearly laughable now) possibilities that could have spawned out of our seasonal tryst, but let's give praise to the unexpected joys shot out of reality.

All pieces in place of a puzzle carved out of some improvisation.

Strange that I sit here now,
Bathroom early morning of same hotel where you once did think to please me, First Love.

Now you sit in Orient soup shops thinking about your life plans somewhere I do not belong.

Have these three years healed any wounds for you,
And are you the reason at all that I'm scared to fall in love?

I'm running out of trips to Louisville, forgotten friend.

Do either of us now think of beauty on Wednesday night teardrop prelude?