Final poem about you.
You bestow your essence upon my need.
Tenderly caressing my desires,
Hastily digging your sword into quixotic hope.
You are not a “you” at all to me.
Just a mere concept I entertain,
A dithering of reason aspiring inspiration.
You are the ink inside my pen.
Bleeding out onto words unwritten,
Smearing through lives you aren’t living.
You are a dream.
You are a dream and I,
I…I don’t sleep.
Eyes are open, mind’s awoken.
Too aware to fall victim to the sway of your despondency.
As you are You,
As I AM me,
We’ll see all that we see— independently.