Philosophy of the Lone Romantic
I miss being held. I miss
being kissed. Sometimes I think
that this is all my life was ever intended
to be. Nothing wrong with that way
of thinking. It just means I'll
be alone forever. A one-person bed does
get cold at night. I'd be content with
a gentle lover, one to brush and nuzzle against
For as much as that's taken for granted.
A warm body to lean against
is the overlooked part of romance.
My life, I think, will be a fairly short one
if I find no mate--and it seems too likely.
I have wasted too much time pining
for demons and dragons uninterested, as against
as it is to give up the chases I love--
I fear it is the chases I love and not the objects of them
--if there is one male out there in a cconstant state of turmoil,
he is probably the match for me.
>Sitting in these ramshackle remains
of what was once my crystal and silver-plated life
with nothing but memories I never wanted,
I can't help but miss
of a lover I've never known never seen never
felt nor heard nor tasted...
When I am alone, I feel his arms
around my shoulders
or stroking my cheek or hair,
or I'll listen to his warm heartbeat
beneath my ear... a man,
a creature who was never there at all.
Balanced just on the edge of my dreams,
whose name and face are strangers
but whose gentle love is as familiar
as my reflection that I do not despise--
who are you, dear lover? Who
will you become next? Your face
always changes just before I can find you
in this miserable world,
but your love, the kind love I long for, crave, and follow,
your love never changes at all.
Who will you be now, my love?
Who will my stupid heart urge me after next, (disappointing)
and why should I trust it?
Forget reason. I only crave
the unattainable warm bed-partner.