If


Love at first bloom

believe in love at first bloom

Cradled between imagination and hope
between dream and fantasy,
is the impossibly small and
tenderly optimistic realm of if…
A nook, a cranny
a tucked-away paradise
illuminated by
sheer anticipation,
it carries the secrets
of Wright and Vermeer.
If shines light and colour
in empty space and
conjures the dreams
of artists and those that dare.
It’s there in if
that hearts are broken
or lost in the longing,
and turn somersaults for love.


There she waited,
in that two-letter paradise
where promise basked under the sun.
And she saw god and bathed in the glow
and the coast was littered with prayers.
It was there,
where poems gave birth
and songs grew wings,
and I and F became lovers at last.

And it was there, too
where your fears were eclipsed
by the clamor of hearts
and lips that begged to know you.
And where you finally succumbed
to the temptations of men
though you vowed you never would.
But the lips were insistent
and threw words like lariats
and they bound your hands to her head
and they begged you to guide her
to where your love was exposed,
in that nook, in that cranny,
in that darkened car you drove.
But F stood for friends
and walked off to find new ones,
while the I was simply me,
and I couldn’t begin to hold
those two small letters together,
no matter how many poems
were written about if….

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This entry was posted in Agony and Ecstacy, Eternal Optismism, Life, Poetry, Relationships and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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