Lost Literature

”Darling, I listened;

To each dewy tear drop,
With the passion of Noah;
Tide high; rope-tied to our rowing boat;
Land ahoy or tempest bound.

Gatsby’s gift of exquisite hope;
Alas! Cyclic disheartenment;
“Boats against the current,
Borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

Aghast, with Romeo’s contentment;
“Did my heart love till now?”
Granted am I with the dullest ache of which
No remedy except poison be the cure.

Taste from thine lips lover;
Shared venomous suffocation,
With weighted boulder breast-laden;
Do you sink with me?

Bluejay confused for Mockingbird,
Never have my lungs lingered so empty;
“Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read.
One does not love breathing.”

Perhaps fated-tied as Ishmael;
Heart-tethered to my hunt;
“See how elastic our prejudices grow
When love comes to bend them.”