Tempting Nonetheless

Some things are not meant to be,
my love. A phenomenal pitch,
swing and miss, a ball not even
recovered by dusty catchers.

Veronan lovers do protest,
“let’s fight for us,” and plan
to defy feudal family fate
for a chance,
freedom to love.

Sometimes I wonder what
would have happened, would
they have drunk the poison
had they known the last few
verses Shakespeare retold?

I wonder about the
quality, the strength of your
affections, a night in your arms,
struggling to keep selfishness
away from immediately dashing
all hope.

Plight of man against beast,
though we were charged to care,
we changed from faithful,
tender, loving, children
to defiant idiots, bawling.

Walking down a path of plan,
where the moss and fern
might guide my feet against
sharper rocks, and brambles.
All I wanted was a sign.

There were daffodils in brightest
hues of yellow and orange, the same color of the Freesias I felt a certain
kinship to, and bled in saturated
feelings, that I try and stay.

You want Romancing the Stone,
to be a man who seeks adventure,
and gets the brainy beauty at the end,
milk of gods, a bonus,
but you are not the hero,
and I am not your scholar.

Our love might have been simple,
if not for being overthought,
and believe me when I say I would
have wandered, had I not been
finding my own path.

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