Making love a forlorn fantasy
It used to be easier
falling in love
back when people had not yet instilled the idea
that my time to fall in love was running out.
I had not seen enough life
to doubt
people with grey hair,
and melting hearts
but with every passing second
I pity myself for believing that every approaching light
to be the sun on the horizon.
I am not proud of myself
for wandering off to the barren fields
and bow down my head
in front of an invisible god,
but when you’ve shut your eyes for so long
darkness starts to seem blinding.
I’ve danced around the fire,
and I have taken a dip in the holy water.
I’ve auctioned my body for buyers
and I’ve placed my bets in the race.
I’d rather be drinking or writing
from now own,
for everything else is a waste of my breath,
if I a’int making love.