Love

if only
if only she’d allow it
if the universe would let, me
proceed,
in,
fourth
forward
beyond
let on
but her inclinations,
purely platonic
academic even
fore I am a study of my own-
undoing
I feel the earth’s tectonic plates
vibrate, and shift from under us
Pangaea, no more
for many lines count our differences
life making us more separate, than one
insurmountable odds erected as relative truths
as we navigated a planet’s gravitational pull
towards the ebbs and flows evenness
though harmony eradicated
chaos inflamed
and balance, radical
I’d all the same, succumb
traveling to my ending
engulfed by the gaseous flames of a star
a Phoenix, she once called me
does space have eyes?
can she see me in my ship
traveling through her?
will she ever tire of my trips?
she’s so vast, I wonder…
if she’s even fully conscious of her expanse
the limitlessness of her reach
all that she encompasses?
I mean, it’s so much to be aware of at once
and I, a lowly stargazer
obsessing over horoscope prophecies
signs, symbols, and depth, my love language
a sucker for the intrinsic nature-
of subtleties and extremes
the organic polarities and dualities of life
which sows me in their womb
the nucleus of where art’s creative powers
weave a cosmic design
and her pen draws my gaze
the sway of her cursive literally places stars
I believe she sees more than she lets on
how could she be blind,
when she writes with four l’s?
as if a pair of lenses,
adorn her visual senses
intricate, intelligence, intimacy, and intuition
so long I’ve romanticized her Galaxy
this vast universe of interconnectedness
exploring our interdependencies pre-written in stars
a soul grid of scatter plot dots
bedazzle a belt that trails space with no point of origin
oblivion and beyond, my affinity of her infinity
as one still seeks, can he ever experience serenity?
she’s settled within the canvass of cosmology
but I dare desire entrance
to her mythology of cosmogony
the jointed ends of her bones-
etched lines between stars
creating a zodiacal story narrated by her anatomy
I’m just a spaceman
fantasizing of creating less space
between us two
or of a space defined
for just us two
if words could draw a picture
she’d paint it
and we’d call it art
because art isn’t lived
it is only created, to be observed
at least that’s what I tell myself
and maybe this is why
the creation fire of attraction, still persists
at least that’s what I tell myself

I wish
and I know genies
privilege has always
sparkled like a magic lamp
I’ve been Aladdin
a lowly street rat
impersonating to allure a Queen
and affluent customs
I don’t know what I wish for most
life
or love
if only you could have them both
what a privilege that would be
and I know genies,
plenty
I also wish,
frequently
but either they can’t hear
or help me
seems their magic
is all rubbed out
or just some wishes
can’t be granted

I miss you
or I need you
but I’m Independent
I think
though I depend on you
I think
I’m lonely
I think
but maybe I’m miserable
and as the maxim says…
though I’m picky
so maybe it’s more you
than that, or me
maybe I have grown more…
attached?
is it routine, ritual, or
remnants and residue
left from fragments of
my shattered emotional state
trauma is such a…
connection is a weird thing
to stay attached
and at the same time
detached
but I miss you
me and my terrible aim
inaccurate many times when
I shoot for the stars
goals and dreams left in trepidation
does any of this register
I’m talking to you
exactly like you feel I may be
but I won’t confirm it for you
it’s a feeling thing
intuition doesn’t lie
but I will
because I’m independent
and I take pride nowadays
in my strong aims
but I miss you
now you know…
that I’m just not that accurate

can I please have room for error
social relations I’ve been alien to
oh, and I’m an alien too

can I assume
when connections,
have been so impossibly far
and few between,
as to hardly feel human at times

can I read in between lines

I’ve lost touch with nuances
I desire most what I’ve lost
fatherhood, freedom, and intimacy

we all crave to leave our imprint
and even to be indented with an imprint
but I’ve been hollow
only pressed upon by the gaze of trauma
and its flirtatious physical harms
like kids hitting the kids they crush on

can I mistake our talks, so I can
get in the groove
of having a groove
I’m not made to drown in testosterone
aggression fueled my descent
all libras crave balance
and so nature,
but free will…
well that’s a matter all on its own

and I’m just wondering
can people maybe
feel more flattered
rather than
offended
allowing themselves to be
human
natural lovers, conduits
connectors and communicators
allowing moments
to happen first,
before pre-defining them

let go!
or how will I ever learn to, again
if I ever did learn that
I have to learn from humanity
how to be humane and human,
again
if I ever was that at all

or has that become a lost world
in a convoluted
crazed and chaotic civilization
a present society where
savagery and barbarism
have taken to be superlatives

and judgment,
is the best means of
self-protection and preservation
but its OK to not be in control of everything
maybe regain it after the question is asked,

‘how are you today, My name is WayOfLife,
what’s yours?’
or

‘are we clicking,
or am I just hopeful and projecting?’

is there room for this kind of honesty?
what about,

‘I desire to get to know someone whom
embodies certain values and passions, with
a personality like yours, do you have time
for a journey, I suck at patience
but I love the nostalgia of the process?’

is there room for this still?

or

will it taint the possibility
of a platonic connection
from here forth?
well of course
I haven’t learned to tweet
I’m an alien after all,
wondering if some woman,
could teach me
how to meet and greet