my mind-mangled image of you is starting to peter out.
like a parrot, it can only imitate so long during a lover’s drought.
lover in the sense that i am loving you, not in the romantic way.
fighting in the wars of our love, my eternal bout.
i’ve started seeing you again. out of the corner of my eye.
every single cyclist on the road, every avian meanderer soaring in the sky.
i know it will never be you, but can’t i pray?
praying isn’t what i do. i wail, i cry.
i dreamt about you a couple of nights ago. we were the stars of your favourite picture.
antiquated, anachronistic, romantic, i dive deeper into your scripture.
i didn’t get the film the first time, but i bludgeoned it into my head and now it’s my favourite.
the aching romance of romance, one of my favourite depictures.
‘depicture is a word,’ i wistfully giggle, ‘you interlocutor!’
storming into my heart and poems, ‘don’t leave,’ my eternal cri de coeur.
