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ROMANTIC,
Love
Lockdown,
I
miss you, honey.
I
miss going to dinner with you.
Where
ever I turn,
Whenever
I look up and down the streets,
I
keep thinking I see you.
It’s
the damnedest thing!
By
the way, I’ve decided to discard,
Throw
out some of the poetry.
Of
course, you must know why!
It
has me loving you too much.
Oh!
Those notes I took,
The
notes of all our telephone conversations,
Sister,
that’s a painful lot!
I
documented all your promises, your assurances,
As
if it mattered, or had real weight,
I
transcribed them, then asked you to repeat them.
I
hoped thereby you might remember
How
many times you had given me your word.
I
wrote them all down, my questions, your answers.
I
can look back, should anyone have interest,
And
figure the exact dates of those, your pledges.
But
the exercise would require work,
Because in the record of those,
Because in the record of those,
Our
long-distance dialogues,
I reckoned time according to lunar calendar.
They read, for instance, first, Monday, December.
I reckoned time according to lunar calendar.
They read, for instance, first, Monday, December.
Across
one sheet I found it significant that
You
had telephoned me from Florida this last October,
A
day which directly followed the second,
The
so-called Harvest Moon, a moon whose rise
The
previous night I had sighted over Forest Avenue.
Upon
those paper records I sometimes drew,
(The
right term here might be doodled.)
Regular
zodiac signs. Silly guy, huh?
I
pretended knowledge.
I
played the role of old-time astrologer,
Someone
who predicated life’s lot on planetary whirl,
Who
posited ill or good fortune from an abstract,
The
ups and downs of a human individual's existence
Based
upon the conjunction of remote bodies,
How
everyday events fit within a starry belt
And
could be known and actually foretold.
I
was dream-wishing.
It
was make-believe, pathetic.
Might
your last satellite communication, I wondered,
Be
housed on a plane
Where
moon rises into constellation, Leo?
It
all gets very primitive when dealing with you.
2.
When
I concentrate,
Concentrate
on my abandon, on my love,
Take
the time and thoroughly examine
The
range, the extent of my feelings for you,
My
heart wells, fills up like a balloon, ready to burst.
Overwhelmed,
stretched to utmost circumference,
Its
membrane reaches thinnest extreme,
It
helps to explain
Just
how sensitive I am to your every desire.
If
I remember to relax,
Should
I try to stop holding on,
Just
simply let you go,
Then
I can not help but feel gratitude,
Give
thanks for the moment,
The
every hour afforded me to share with you.
At
other times I fall to absolute delusion,
And
believe that I write great poetry,
The
words I pen immortal,
Celebrate
you and me for the ages,
That
future readers might pine and swoon, as I do here,
And
then wonder what great grace sanctioned lyric,
Allowed
it to express the sentiment that ours was destiny,
And yes, permitted me to publish the story, –
And yes, permitted me to publish the story, –
How
deep and far our love ranged.
I
guess that I believe we are constantly being reborn.
I
go through all these thoughts, again – again,
Hoping
against hope,
Seeking
a glimmer, some glimmer,
Fingers
crossed for incredible stroke of luck,
Trust
your return to my arms once more.
3.
I
have a real problem;
It’s
when I look about.
I
see other couples, pairs, tight,
Together
for the afternoon, daylight upon their faces,
All
lovey-dovey, they walk along the avenues.
It
bothers me seeing them; they sit in cafes and read
Newspapers
and books, and sip from bottles of water.
I
envy them. I do not have you.
World
seems happier place
When
people have each other to depend on,
And
romance animates their bodies and faces.
I
am sorry to conclude, you’re a mean person.
You
went away; my sole companion now my work.
4.
Am
I making this up as I go along?
But
the fact remains
That
you have gone and I am home alone.
You
left me all by myself with my freedom.
I
fear that I have fallen prey to mine own emptiness.
Were
you to belong to me, I swear, I wouldn’t,
I
wouldn’t share you with any one, with anything.
Time
and place reduced to you and me,
You
at center of it all!
Dream
comes true!
It
would feel more like love, sweet love,
Than
me, here, sitting lost,
Trying
to figure the situation, or
How
I might say it proper,
Finally
to convince you, love too precious a thing,
Often
once in a life-time event,
And
ought never be willfully discarded, thrown away.
Hope
I haven’t upset you.
Maybe
that’s the real difficulty,
The
source of us being driven apart,
I
am just too romantic.
You,
you seek something else.
Perhaps
you are simply more practical, reasonable.
My
flights of fancy and over-heated emotion,
Not
things you have in mind.
Do
not worry!
I
have the capability of living with my beliefs.
But,
darling, you must take pity,
Open
your heart -- for you say you still love me.
Mercy
please! Forgive me, I lack resolve.
I
am unable to start anew, to make life without you.
I
am still not over this thing of ours.
I
haven’t gotten over it, the beauty,
All
the wondrous times,
I
haven’t gotten over my being with you.
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