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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2104178
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Romance/Love · #2104178
My idea of love and regrets.
Under the green.

I sit alone on a bench for two,

with sealed lips and a drowning heart.

Oh my regrets! Oh my fate!

Wherever I look, familiar faces I see,

but they're useless and mean nothing to me,

for no one can soothe this heart but thee.

As I think, I get lost in thoughts,

lose the sight of true and false,

and find you sitting next to me.

The breeze gets cool; the air redolent,

the flowers bloom to pay respect,

to their superior; their envy;

my beloved, my sweet chéri.

The green gets greener, and I get paler,

at such magnificence and majesty.

And as we sit, we could hug or kiss,

or even reach the lovers' bliss,

but these are petty desires, we know,

and so we opt to talk in full flow.

I look straight into your eyes so divine,

and know what real beauty looks like.

So I listen as you open up your world,

life, love, intimacy; I listen to all of your words.

But it's so hard to listen to what you have to say,

when you have a face so lovely, and eyes so perfect.

I stare and stare, seen to be listening,

when I'm lost in a world where no one can reach me.

And as I listen and nod away,

I hear sheepish laughter at something you said.

And this laugh, though silly and loose,

is the most glorious; my biggest muse.

And finally, I reach out and touch a hand so soft,

that I'm unsure if I've touched it at all.

And as you feel a beast touch your hand,

the ramblings seize all of a sudden,

and divinity pours into my eyes so expectant.

And with your lips curved into a smile,

you gently place your head in my lap.

I suddenly get to Eden and back,

my life finds a purpose that it lacked,

and I find myself in love, the same that I once mocked.

Everything's perfect for a moment, as we hold hands.

Suddenly, the world begins to shake,

my time's up in this wonderful place.

And as I'm awoken from my trance,

I see the bench empty once again.

I now know that it was all to good to be true;

the love of a dove, a beast never drew.

At least now I know of what could've been,

if I had the moxie to reach out to you,

under the green.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2104178