Sometimes I am the master mason of impossible things
As if my soul has turned on the lathe of time
soothing its rough edges
deepening its tactile curves for these observations
For you.
My love is ever a stalking beast
an impossible
a deviant sensation upon a clean world.
My darkling gaze sees more than you or he or she.
For you
I could say I too am a white clad worshipper at the temple of your perfections
But my tongue is not nubile enough for a lie
Worshippers do not ache to kiss the mouth of their deity
I am an outsider, here where they all know you and your golden looks
I am an outlier and I am enamoured of what mechanisms turn inside your mind
The light of your natural open gaze
For you
It is your dark and not your light that compels me.
The secrets you hold beneath that small sadness
That engages me
I spend the coins of my precious time, lost in the whirl of all the possible strands of our story.
I tell of you again and again.
In so many men
So many virtues
So many faults
All
For you
Even as I turn away from you.
you still do not see
This sea of possibility
for you
