Our passions dwell on high, upon silver clouds. And how I kneel for a benediction, that love
Would peak in the forest. Touché, my love. Resistance has proven an ethical claim. But
Nevertheless, I host the soirees, longing to lay Eyes upon your person. But I’m a fantasy, praying
Upon the extraordinary, and destined to become A cliché. This is the fate of dreams. Visions
Become illusions. And the mystique lingers in the Shadows, indiscernible and aloof. And still,
My every orison is for love. I am therefore a fool, Manipulated by emotions, despite reality’s Force. But in earnest, you have become my Afflatus, driving me unto the cliff of poetry.
Well, John, I've seen this sort of love play in cattle. They too are driven to the cliff. Some are able to stop in time and others are forced to take the plunge. It is their fate. Perhaps yours too. It was much more than nice but a bit less than natural. I'll leave you with that.
"Force. But in earnest, you have become my
Afflatus, driving me unto the cliff of poetry."
Powerful and beautiful words for love. The love letter was perfect. I miss the day of letters. You could hold them and carry them forever. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote