Reflexion

Shy, shy love.

It is a pity, and a crime, the way so-called unwritten wisdom keeps us apart, waiting.
But what is wisdom, but a belief? And what is belief, without a proof? And what is proof, but just another belief?

I miss my auburnafternoons,
And daydream trips to the moon.

And, wild nights of sweet, subtle delight.

Shy, shy love. Are we bent on being secrets forever?

At least, I know now that I exist.
At least, the sea keeps me alive.