What do you see, my love, behind these bars that you have put me behind. Setting the bar one by one. Each bar telling me how love has failed me, and the space between them telling me how much freedom I acquired when I did not love you. How then, can you, say that love frees you?
Oh, you, who knows best. Tell me; do you look at me and think that you are distressed? Or do you, my love, look at the skies and find joy there? You, you that knows best. Does love shine through your eyes when you look at me, am I supposed to feel that way? If so, then can you drink the sweet nectar of the citrus without peeling its skin?
But even so, the beauty of the citrus comes not when its young, but when it is rotting. Oh, what wonders life bring. Rotting is my heart in this prison, rotting are my eyes when I see you. Yet the smile that I wear when I feel your presence, is clearer than the perfect shadow you bring. I am afraid to get out of these bars, because your shadow cleanses me.
And I only see it when I am here, here counting the bars that continue settling.
YOU ARE READING
You Who Knows Best
PoetryThis is a series of love poems written by me. "May we meet where the eye can find its rest, And where our hearts beat for each other, even outside of our breasts."
