Te Amore

Wishes are not horses

Horney dipped words

like a first orgasm

I wrote of you;

as real as every breath,

but clearer, surer.

Every corner, every truth,

huddles sprouted like weeds;

experiences and aspirations.

We were not birds of a feather,

but we flocked still.

But the winds decried,

like nature, this symphony;

birthing a ferocious storm

washing away chemistry.

“Hi” we still have; enough.

Let time nor reason beguile

with sweet whispers logic,

this feeling isn’t logic, it’s alive;

reaching ever for those days.

But wishes are not horses.