I’m irritatingly analytical about heart, love and relationships. Often dissecting with keen logic and trusty list of pros/cons leaving whimsy for my manuscripts. This leads me to wonder if I should see an analysis but then I remember acceptance of my own true nature is in itself a sort of ideal.
Peter Rodulfo's In The Evening
A purposeful glance
We share a memory of a perfect moment neither was party to
In it we laughed at the simple, drank of the wine and made love until the setting sun was engulfed by the unhurried night
Both of us made new in a sort of baptism of flesh
Whispering until our voices were but hoarse rumbles
We are capable of it
You need only take hold of my hand and pull me close
I’m giving you permission telekinetically
Only you can’t hear me
Why can’t you hear me?
All my love. Now you take care,