Kind Sir,

Kind Sir, Your grandiose visions of love are now painful... Precious but painful to me nonetheless. For with elegance and grace In glorious splendor! Thou lay before me A bountiful feast from the harvest. Delightful delicacies of which I've yet to taste temptingly taunt me and still I have naught. Your vision of love Kind Sir With its unbridled passion Serves to remind me of that which I've always dreamed... Girl child fantasies fervently wished for faithfully taught Of Knights in Shining Armour And a land called Camelot. Reminder then too Sir, Of what is not Or fear may never be. Stinging rays wound my heart Yet can I so heartily believe In that of which I've not received? Surely you understand Sir, At times your vision blazes before with a blasphemous hiss! And as if in its final siege Blows on the dampening embers of unfulfilled memories. Be I wrong to wish for wedded bliss... What think you I? For thou knowest my brightest and darkest of desires. The image of you displayed Kind Sir Simply exquisite. Exactly as I'd pictured it. Yet how could that be Visions into reality? Ah...but your eyes... Sultry, sequestering, endless eyes Hold me in their mystical gaze. Be that you love? Is it true love Eyes be the mirror to the soul? Or Kind Sir, are you merely a vision within a waking dream. What think you I Sir As life unfolds before me... Written March 3rd, 2002 © on Mar 02 2002 11:35 PM PST   10 • 0 • 8