For the horizon-level visionary
This has to be the finest, most bohemian fall of all.
At the end of a sun-retardant decade,
A season souvenir divulging the noon transactions,
the fragility of a sand castle,
the abundance of a first home,
the impunity of going down the same road;
From evening riots to morning rituals
You - so fortunate to have earned loner status
Me - too old to become an impulse follower
Or an ignored negotiator of platitude.
With every floral presence
Reminiscences of our deaf date,
The arguments behind same old smiles
Of same old lipstick and matching cheek blush;
With every by-gone second
Away from scarlet strawberry kisses and long-lasting hugs
I crave for the prolonged sophistication of waiting
As if performing an individual art
whisper by whisper, draft after draft,
I am kneeling halfway between temptation and responsibility
Falling prey to renewed resolutions
Self-absorbed and irreversibly docile
The ultimate recognition and liberating serenity.