There is just a minute left
for our bright sunsets
and our dark sunrises.
The soul preys on the body;
so easily.
It was just the body that wanted fun
Or whatever it is.
Stained by alcohol,
burgeoned by cigarette smells,
made flimsier by those
lonely conversations to Self.
Such nights cannot be soulful.
They are tainted by love
Of a different kind
That does not seek respect
And does not find any.
We cannot exist like that, my dear.
We cannot exist in abstraction.
Not like this, where you
build a version of me in your mind,
and a version of you in mine.
All through the summer,
we chased the abstract ideal
they taught you and me
in movies, in songs;
sometimes, they even appeared
in conversations with our friends.
They all want us to be together.
in abstraction.
We could fall in love that way;
spiritually, in the mind.
No bodies involved to stain its existence.
Some sort of Platonic ideal;
because we have already become
mere surreal forms.
Let us fall disingenuously in love,
and then question the source
of our sadness,
if you think that helps.
And hope that it will hide us
from the realities we face in life.
Do we finally realize that
we cannot really share the same ideas;
let alone the same coordinates
in space and time?
