Sixteen

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I dreamt I sent you the keepsake box where I store my
Honeysuckled infatuation
But I tied the ribbon in a foolish way, it was too tight
And I’m afraid this binds me to you.

The delicious fragility of this travesty has
Been tapping endlessly on my windowpane,
The solace of the
languorous rain that falls on the pavement and lolls me to sleep.

I may as well say that I swear by the green of the spring
That I have always loved you
Though you will distort effervescent words until they
are moribund,
and you will find a way to forget.

I suppose my subconscious has drifted to a certain
Netherworld, which resembles the bluffs of Ireland
Where the only kind of love is requited
The brine of the ocean will course through your veins,
And the lamenting reveries of heartbreak will be drowned out
By the chants of those of us who still laugh and wish.





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