I Might Not Love You, But I’d Make Love to You
I might be near, but we never been closer.
It’s only by convenience of location, I chance to be in the intimate yet distant retreat.
While my presence taken for granted within the solicitous cynosure due to locality differences.
Perchance; privacy and comfort of familiar scent and warmth is much more desirable. Waking up to the calming morning dew and misty touch of versed cognoscente.
In distant epoch, I see myself as the ascended one from falling in love with the idea of being in love. Petrarchan sonnet befalls on wary heart where the concept of unattainable love twisting, punishing the fool’s naivety.
I remember you as the apotheosis,
Beauty walking before the springtime sun had set.
Eyes of onyx deep in ivory cheeks inset,
Space-black river of cascading tousled tresses,
Soft lips with smile hiding your thoughts behind guesses.
Such was as I saw you that ancient day we met.
Your face in longing visions disturbs my nights yet,
As long days have been filled with weary restlessness.
But now I see the unkind years on your visage,
The awful beauty that I once beheld faded
With hard life written in every line and time-scar.
Your grace and beauty was no thicker than a midge
Awaiting but the passing moons of life jaded
To slough off showing the cruelty you truly are.
I would love to meet but not when you’re in a rush for more important matter at hand. I serve only as time-consuming obstruction in the time-shift of inbound interest.
I hate to be blame for being a “date”line gremlin.
I rather be blame as deferrer of fate than tempt fate deterring time frame.
Experiencing (incidental) repackaged pop music of melodic death metal or progressive death metal of Scandinavian and Mediterranean origin is like hearing a lullaby from transgendered KISS crossdresser with tag name of obscurely fancy words like Disarmonia Mundi.
Pop punk and post-hardcore is another words for MTV’s schizophrenic death-by-emo-song genre. Naming the band The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus is commendable, provided I’m not the one giving it.
I love spatting to those guys. I’m a big believer in character-building by destroying the morale.
Often when he was begging, Diogenes would be spat on by the people who passed him. Diogenes would ignore this and simply wipe his face with his sleeve. When ridiculed for his passive behaviour, Diogenes said, “Since men endure being wetted by the sea in order to net a mere herring, should I not endure being sprinkled to net my dinner?”
I’m also a cynic.