Peering dreamily into the misty night, I perceive a fancy figure;
Clearly female in her contours, pulled, swayed, drawn to her very core
As I glance at her eyes to watch them twinkle in the twilight,
She rolls her head back, almost to ask,
"What do you think you're looking at, bub?"
Do I ask for that much?
Just the soft embrace of her sweet, gentle mind.
Oh! How I dream of feeling her soft, supple heart
Companioned with my own in the BLUE RED PURPLE adventure of living
Rushing forward to confront each new oasis of warm, cool sunrise,
binding together in blissful effort towards truth, mercy, justice,
towards Love.
And still, that strange, opaque barrier remains,
trapping her in the confusion of my strange behavior,
and me
in wishful solitude.
Wait! My eyes perceive a soft glimmer of returned beauty
piercing through the sheer stone which surrounds all lonely hearts.
We exchange thoughts for awhile, but our minds drift apart,
separated, distinct: rushed.
Dazed, blurred, I find myself wondering:
What DO I want, anyway?
from her?
from life?
perfection?
companionship?
perfection.
to soak my soul in the same fever for life which consumes newlyweds
with such lust, passion, and overwhelming emotion; to focus, direct:
to help.
life is simpler than her. I can define my ideals, and live by them.
Her, I can't make her live by my ideals. Why should mine compare to
hers? Even presupposing I should sway her mind, what should that prove?
Does that make me right? or better? or does it just make me
convincing?
Even if I am right, guilting her into my way of thinking makes me feel
akin to the bearer of bad news. It is not my manner to patrol the
minds of others; how then am I to teach others to patrol/know/be/live their
own minds?
She does; I know. But her colors and shapes are all different.
SO GOD DAMMIT WHERE ARE MY FINGER PAINTS?!
