I wonder
if all the waiting I did for you
held any magic,
or isn't love so stubborn
really a curse?
The heart cannot be told
anything.
It stands up and walks out
when you silence it.
It either runs the show
or you haven't got one.
I only lived my life
with my heart turned outwards.
It faced that direction
so I would not drown
in my own sorrow.
I loved you even when I didn't want to.
Through the indignities and betrayals
my heart was a train on a singular track.
How many times I jumped off
and tore up my ticket.
Then my illness would call you to my bedside
and we would instantly be "us" again
like we never and always were.
At no time were we parted
or ever in someone else's arms.
It was a dream
and when our eyes met,
we awoke from the dream.
To love improbably and unreasonably
is the only way there is for me.
I cannot be a fire without burning myself.
Passion pumps from the heart's red blood
and I would not trade one day
of this high-octane passion for
a lifetime of safe and sane.
Surely, I will burn myself out.
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