Sessions from the Balcony: Young Love

Young love

The way it is

The way it was

The way it is supposed to be —

The kind of love to lay it all on the line,
to ride the very edge of existence,
to have the feeling of running through a field
wild, in the middle of nowhere,
grass is waist-high, blue sky, yellow sun
like a childhood vision of freedom.

The air moves through me, gently,
the sunlight is warm upon my face,
the grass and the grounds greet me like a friend
and she,
she is my Earth, my world, my soul,
my beating heart, my reason why I dared in the first place;
My love.

At evening, sunlight vanishing, sinking down
like the resting eyelids of Mother Earth,
she is my vision, smiling, laying on her side,
legs curled, half-swaddled in blankets and sheets;
half revealed, in the flesh with a glitter in her eye,
like a glare, meant only for me.

I look and see and swear
if I am to ever die it will only be because I have lived
and if I have lived, I swear, I have only lived
to dare and be this with her,
with me

Her body, her breath;
the moon moves in through the window of my soul
to illuminate the room.

I have this recollection of a night in the city,
the sunset, and ah, the sunset —
the heavens wore the horizon
like a beautiful golden orange belt,
placed around the waist of the sky.

As the sunset bled in color,
the windows of tall city buildings
took on the reflection of the sky.
. . . This was beautiful . . .
Believe me

I was high from the ground, intoxicated in other ways;
living and breathing
standing on the roof of a tall building,
dead-square in the middle of Midtown Manhattan.

I had everything and nothing.
I had nothing to my name but everything to my heart
and she, like the resurrection,
I swear; she to me, was like the wind on my face,
gentle, touching, and reassuring to me that
whether I go where I go,
I am who I am,
which is perfect

Young love

The way it is

The way it was

The way love is always supposed to be

Lasting and ongoing
(to me)

As I see it
her breath is like mine,
Mine is intended for her
and her breath is intended for me,
like the last dance of the moon,
which passes before the waking the sun,
and whispers her name, which I love.

I love the moon same as I love her.
I love the sun too because this is her,
shedding light on my world
so that a new day can begin.

Thus, this is my love.
This me,
which is all I have
and all that I give
(If she’ll have me)

There is a beach (somewhere?)
empty but not void;
this is where the shoreline meets the sea
the sun arises here to perform a trick,
us in front row, no one around, n
o other footsteps in the wet sand
but ours
(Can you see where I’m going with this?)

But ah, these dreams:
what it means to wake up in paradise,
alive, in love, at any age and longer

— Forever —

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