Their idleness, aimless and languid airs.

Later in life, a sweet peculiar breeze
which swept me off my feet but left me wanting-
wondering if it were mine to keep;
Which has lately become a wild, world-shattering wind
where from within I withstood the terrible love.

A terrible love, my dreamboat,
As all love is eternally terrible;
But still the object of my affection
You strange, mysterious thing.

And I myself a puzzle
somewhat porcelain
Like you;
An impenetrable island
somewhat
Like you
Whose presence is felt dearest
In absence and excesses
Like yours.

But yet I am different as you are different;
Difficult as all things persevering
Still, above all-
Together and growing
In Love.


J.