The Perfect Man for Her
A poem
She was mine, I was hers.
My heartbeat, through the days and nights she was always with me.
We just could not have enough of each other.
Long and lengthy our talks, that’s how she described it.
With us, it was the garden of Eden, pre-sin era.
It was just us, with nothing to hide or be uncomfortable about.
It was a mutual sensation, for we mirrored each other’s feelings.
Just as Wiz Kid cried, “I just can’t explain…” I just felt it.
No clue how it began and clueless about how it was to end.
But what is life if we don’t live in the moment?
She was mine, I was hers.
If we died, we died.
But first, we lived.
That was it for us.
That was why she stayed up at night reminiscing of the day we will tell the world of our love and it’s pieces.
The laughs of splendor that filled her face made the sun the second brightest object in the planetary system.
Miles, I flew away.
Before she even had the chance to show me to her sweet mater.
My feelings were true. No lie!!!
I meant every consonant and every vowel when I said the words; “My heart I give to you.”.
They were never meant to be doubted.
Babes I know you lived in denial, in uncertainty, and in grief.
Our love was just as you thought, and even beyond.
It was ordained by the gods and written in the skies.
It was a message, a message to… to You!
She had hoped.
She had dreams.
She had cravings of only things she could see, and no one deserved all these more than her.
Her dreams, hopes, and cravings were not to be sacrificed. That would be sacrificing her.
I loved her so much. So much I defied the gods by not sacrificing her for love, but by sacrificing love for her.
By sacrificing our love, I was opening the gate of greater love, the gates of self-love.
No one deserved her love more than she did.
All the love in the world cumulatively wouldn’t make sense if she was void of that self-love.
I see she is preparing herself to experience that love.
I see she is preparing to live her dreams and satisfy her cravings.
My love, I will be back and I will set the final locks to that door.
I trust you will know it is me again.
You are mine. I am Yours.
This is a reply to Joan Amanwi’s poem:
Think she might do another one? 😉
