I
want to
be loved
when my sun
doesn't shine or
when it rains violently.
Then when it gets cold, I want to
be surrounded, not by the fire alone but also by someone who also desires to
be the "warmness of my soul"
pouring me a cup
of anything,
hot.
I
want to
find the love of
my life twenty years from
now, sending her roses when I'm
fifty, getting her to forget about the affairs she had, with daisies. I want the
touch that is felt by the
heart of which the
sensation last
forever
in the
soul.
And when
it's finally time to go,
we will make one's way, leaving
all things behind; for here nothing's truly ours. May our story be buried
along with us, untold and
unwritten by the poets
but only known to
the moon.
always.
