This love, divine:
Let’s set the scene…
Introducing the Players.
Starting with You.
You are an alternative Girl,
No wait, an alternative Boy,
No wait… Ah whatever.
The point is,
Perhaps you paint,
Or play guitar.
There is a softness to your skin,
To your smile
A shine seen only
In the lights of stage,
Or studio,
A quiet shine of the soul,
Like tea lights in a paper bag.
One day it will blossom into wisdom,
Or quietly burn out like a merry little fire-hazard.
(See? I forgot that you were a fire-hazard).
By the time I held you
and you erupted into flame,
A minor firework,
a fistful of sparklers,
enough to singe my palms as I pull away.
But so easy,
to plunge them into the water where you fall.
I reach for you
But there is only
Sssssssssssssssss…
Your hair,
Has a faded curl to it,
a faint whisper of a playful cerulean streak.
A wavelet,
that gently scuds the coast,
You touch me and I dissolve
Into seafoam
You just make me want to
Shhhhhhhhhh...
And now we have me,
See the thing is,
I’m... Fine.
And if I catch myself out the corner of my eye,
On a good night,
With the right shirt,
And the suede
I am fine.
Fine enough maybe,
to stand next to you someday?
We slow dance,
And for a moment I forget,
the scrape rattle scrape of my footstep,
Beneath my drainpipe jeans.
These infernal Machines,
That keep my feet
Contained.
My socks, stained
With a skein
Of sweat.
See there is effort beneath
My every attempt at elegance.
You might even say as much.
Whatever this becomes,
I’m scared.
I’m tense.
I’m tired,
Soothe me to sleep, in whatever way you see fit.
Sometime, In the early morning
I’ll feel you pull away,
open my eyes just long enough
to see the sweat trickle down your back,
that sweet over the shoulder smile….
You tug on your silk shirt,
with the pearl buttons,
I could pluck apart,
To feel your heartbeat.
I close my eyes,
as you plant a parting kiss.
the feel of your lips,
that fleeting ghost of you,
all I need to prove that this
wasn’t just another dream.
Now, let’s cut to the meet-cute.
So, for some unknown reason,
I spent the last of my senior years of high school,
in maths class.
All I know was that first day,
You were there,
Sitting next to me with a smile,
of some familiarity.
(I could have looked at that smile for a while.)
Suddenly,
not a few minutes in,
You turn to me,
and ask to see my bottle of water.
So delightfully childish is my enthusiasm,
That I think for a moment,
you are pouring the water
into a jar of tadpoles,
Hidden deep within the pocket
of your moss green coat.
Until I see the tell-tale tip
of your vape pen.
With that,
you walk out,
never to darken the doorway
of this particular classroom again.
I sit in stunned silence,
Until through the window, I see you,
Filling the clear blue sky,
With a plume of clouds.
Then I realise,
“Oh! He used me!”
Ah well…
There are worse ways To be used.
I know that, at the end of the day,
I Am little more
than a machine,
In want of Florence.
A grace so effortless,
It drifts in an orbit unto itself,
untouched by everything.
I want to be your bargain bin
Bowie on a budget.
Ever changing,
ever enigmatic,
Ever earnest and
ever so slightly indescribable.
I want my name
to sound like
a prayer on your lips.
I want my touch,
To stir something
In the depths of your fiery soul.
I want my kiss,
To feel as light,
as a blessing,
a baptismal rebirth.
We can connect here
At long last last,
My dear.
Here in the gentle eye of a hurricane.
Is it not divine,
My Love?