isn’t it funny?
that when written out of the game,
we create our own kingdoms?
as if in this one lifetime,
we must reign like kings and queens,
we must move the earth with a love supreme.
but love,
what if when i turn 58
and in the courtyard of my derelict mind,
i decide that i have only wanted
a place next to you?
what then?
if i embark on a journey to rewrite my pride,
and i find a man i’ve set out to love
married with children,
greying hairs and weathered smiles.
what then?
should i say to a friend i have decided to love,
even if these feelings have creased like skin?
even if we are way past our prime,
and i am again, reaching for angels out of my grasp?
what then?
if my love cannot move your earth,
if my kingdom crumbles with me,
if by writing myself a new story,
i forget that some chapters
cannot possibly write themselves.
what
then?
