Obtuse eyes feel half as real,

When they’re staring into your psyche,

And all that you can feel,

Is, will he even like me?

But it was better than expected,

Your life was resurrected,

And holding him, you’re consoled,

And not easily cajoled

Into conforming like narrow-minded,

Idiots that yelled and chided,

You, but this partner you have,

Has opened your creativity,

Yet darkened your swift sanity,

Though it seemed radiant and pure,

Like his soul: cruel yet demure,

He knows of this, you’re sure.

And he tempts you back like a spider,

And if you open your mind wider,

Yours will mesh into his,

And all that was . . . is,

So, you feel happy for the first,

Time you’ve felt that thirst,

That thirst to be content,

No longer “came and went”,

Will scribble across your poems,

But, if only you could show him,

How much he means to you,

He’d see what it’s like to wear the other shoe,

And he’d realize that his love,

Is just as untainted as yours,

And scores and scores and scores,

Of amazingly musical chords and notes,

Could never describe how remote,

You would feel without him,

His touch, his smile, his wit,

And a bottomless love you’ll never forget.

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