until next june

each june i meet you

in a new body,

in a new name,

and with each time you run away

i wish i could run with you,

i wish i could slow the rotting of this flesh we are placed in

so we could finally have our time on earth;

you are untouchable as the stars,

deluding me with your proximity

while truly so far away;

and how do you view me?

delicate like a blossom?

bruised like a pear,

stirring in her own guts and being pecked apart by scavengers?

a pear that no longer could keep hold of her branch due to her own pride?

perhaps you view me as pitiful,

and what is it to you if i am pitiful?

if i find my comfort in the hope that there shall be a union

sometime, somewhere,

between us?

what is it to you?

as you advance through these levels in life

and i am left behind,

what is it to you?

pleasurable, i'm sure.

you're welcome.