Sometimes I fancy that our thoughts are connected, that we drank of the same potion in a distant past and still ail from some unique shared affliction. Yes, perhaps some ancient rogue dynasty has our destinies crossed and a telepathic romance keeps our minds gently nudging each other affectionately, allowing our souls to steal a breath from each other’s world before returning to their own personal affairs. It seems I can feel the pull of your gravity at least when my head is clear and distractions are at rest, calling to me through the elements of nature that express your powers in mime. But chances are your witchcraft is unintentional and my passion is in vain, and I am just a vague symbol left unnoticed among your mosaic surroundings.
You have no idea what it takes to suppress this kind of energy… or what it takes to favor another woman’s face in replacement of your own. Your taste is unforgettable, and the illusion of your skin against mine is at times so concentrated that my body warms from the very thought. In my mind I breathe into your neck and sift through your shining hair, my desperate senses synthesizing the gifts that your tangible qualities have to offer. Your black cherry lips entertain my extrasensory perception, and at times I swear I can detect traces of your self-augmented perfume seeping through the mustiness of my chamber.
Even though it would be more grounded to say that true love better suits us in separate forms, I cannot shake the notion that you fit comfortably into a groove on some throbbing patch of my soul. Even if we were not meant to be lovers, should you not be my estranged step-sister peeled from the same mold on a more aesthetic plane? I feel familiar with the nuances of your figure even though we have only held each other in some chimeric fable now banished from time, and I know your kiss as if you planted it moments before I awoke. What a shame that my talents should go unanswered and your beauty be reduced to a single photograph, for so much wasted affection does not convert into clout in a demanding world.
It is true that rational thought allows more tangible lovers to cycle in and out of my life, but you will forever dominate the lonely spaces in between. Unless my destiny should be doubly lit by a sudden intervention, you will always be an unprofitable sugar of the imagination… for wishful thinking is on our side but reality is not, and my love is reflected back into my soul like light bouncing harmlessly off of a mirror. Sometimes the greatest love is more wisely spent on one’s self rather than squandered away into decadent thoughts, and I would be more of a man to train myself from the cindering memory of your touch.
© 2011 Brandon Gene Petit