An Empty Stab at Love

What I think an honest love poem should sound like.

I wish
to cash in
my spirit’s reserves
with cursive:
blood still moist on time’s trails,
worlds not emptily glorified,
(this dream)
this class, dirty shoes and smiles,

but for now I am
just a specter’s weight
feeling obliged only to enjoy the ride,
“So make it count!”

To explain how scantly warmth is known:

(though perhaps it is
intimate in spring,
when liliums bloom)

sounding song-like, though one eyed and
back breaking, misunderstood but
loved, on a cold plane; railroad tracks
and existential though unaware,
with a comfort I've worked so hard for
and a climax amounting to nothing.

…but removed, with slight return caught softly in a sphere,
the trails apparent and
clear as dew in day, perfectly deceived,
where I may long for you, as through self-desire I
deceive myself only, holding an opiate we each can stand;

love, that is the gift to us all.

Author's Note

I have the topography the way I have it to try and preserve a sense of flow without having to use punctuation which I sometimes feel is inappropriate; further, all punctuation is intentional, but if you find either aspect more distracting than constructively contributing please let me know. It also might be a little dense, but I guess that's what happens; I was up all night editing this poem whose original content is so vastly different from what it ended up being lol. I hope you guys and girls enjoy it.