UNDER THE GUAVA TREE

 

Dear Love,

If you could just spare me a minute. 

A minute to breathe and gather my thoughts

And be sure that I am still sane.

You plague my mind every second of the day

And living, with you, as nothing but mere 

Wishful fiction takes the very life out of me. 

Love, it hurts to think of you 

But that is all I find myself doing.

It is all I want to do;

To think of you, 

Of your face, 

Of the mark that beauty so carefully 

Placed between your brows that 

Causes me to stare a little longer whenever 

My gaze falls on your glory;

Of the spot that beauty so temptingly 

Placed on your lower lip

That causes me to dream of the day

When I shall like a butterfly on a rose petal, 

Taste of sweet nectar flowing freely from 

Your garden of exotic beauty.

Love, it is hard to tell the days apart.

The flow and ebb of morning becomes 

Drab, and daytime hath all too long 

A darkness that lasts well into the last 

Millisecond of night. 

But the memories of your face and 

The songs that you love hold up a light in

That cold, drab darkness. 

Your likeness, as is forged in digital print

Calms my mind and lets my eyes rest

On beautiful light that has evaded me for so long. 

Love, I have survived the Titanic and the 

Murderously cold Atlantic;

Life was not very tasteful

In the passing months when sleep felt 

Better than being awake.

But now Love,

The mere thought of you sends 

A sweet smelling aroma wafting through 

The air that keeps me hopeful for much 

Better times.

I pledge myself loyally and

Eternally to your service, Love. 

I do not care anymore if this love destroys

Me for I am already in a million shards

Without it.

Dear love,

It hurts to think of you.

You hurt but can there really 

Be a life when you don’t exist? 

Yours utterly and miserably smitten, 

IKULELE.