A Defined ‘Pining’
We took a walk together,
you became her, and I became him,
along the way we tried to forget
who we were or from where we had come,
or wanted to become.
We wished only simple; complexity
would put a damper on a clear morning …
Snow laden valleys stretched our eyes,
our boot steps in unison,
you asked me,
‘how long should a person pine’
when immediately I imagine Jane Austen
walking with her sweet lover,
and then I gave a response in the hopes
I might be your Fitzgerald only for that moment.
I wanted you to be my Emily, while you,
without glancing my way imagined me to
hold the truth to which literary man you desired,
not the individual walking today,
only the image, the visual, the romantic
interlude both of our minds yearned.
We walked into the warmth of our desire,
to reach a moment, where hesitation would
cease the beauty of our feigned elegance.
I looked you in the eye,
I wondered about who you were,
what reason did you appear in my life,
on that day in the wintertime.
When I walked away,
I only imagined our classic lives
would continue forward,
to release heartbreak onto passion,
for however can we possibly let this pain,
become our preferred canon of curiosity.