I invited you to share a drink, and we both climbed the mountain of wine.

I would shout to the mountains and they would say in reply, “He’s not yours.”

 

Are you tied to me?

With an abiding knot?

No, it’s tight and unstirred like my climbing rope.

We’re bound but from hand and foot.

 

I writhe from side to side.

Then fall off the peak

 

Would you be willing to dance along to the music of the heavens that you don’t believe?

With me?

 

There’s no love lurking longingly anywhere, lesser in my paradise

No, not all

Not in the least bit slightest,

Whichever mountain you climb, not tall.

I’ve lost you, and then silence.

 

Because I loved you, I know now that this is what Love should be.

 

It blooms, slowly for me particularly.

When it does, it will blossom.

It will be grand and it will be great.

 

Love that can handle the rosy sky.

Prayers, abundant answered, in quiet.

Amen’s are interchangeable for rope.

Miracles better done than on Earth.

 

Faith has brought me to his pearly gates.

Into the element that complimented your petty mountain.

 

I’m in “flushed cotton candy fields,

Marshed and mallowed,

Tears syrupy and soft”

 

His jaws spout sweet stanzas that my tooth has a craving for.

He pays attention to me.

His Love is that of a hardworking gardener.

He wants to dance with me.