Love is a Pierian Spring

Love is a Pierian Spring

it makes me drunk in this love

or perhaps, Lust?

this desire,

is it companionship

or selfish comfort.

it this hunger I feel for the person

or for the feeling that this person provides.

I am sad in her absence I am gleeful in her presence.

part of me hates this thirst

the emotions causing me to process everything though these slatternly eyes

but the other part of me wishes to be ever near her

to breath her air to feel her body against mine

I could kiss her I say to Myself "What is but a foot?"

"What is but a foot?", I reply "Is the intensity of emotions and the 

sincerity behind it."

But still, I am mad at this thought

I am foolish in this fantasy

Oh How I Must Bore Her!

To always wish to touch, 

to feel.

I am a hedonist for her affection 

and yet I feel near anger at her denial

at her percieved denial like a newborn babe.

I find dissatisfaction at this space between.

I hate this thirst and yet I wish to always be thirsty.

Drink deep or do not. 

But I am Drunk so very Drunk

and I can not bare this valley through

but I wish nothing more to sink so much deeper.

I am bashful,  I am unsure.

My desire to bring the distance

and my fear at its denial 

rip me apart like saplings

Oh these strange events

that makes such fools of us

Oh these strange events that strip me of my security and my courage. 

I am not sure if she loves me or if she simple love to love

and I am not sure if I love her or if I love her affection.

It is not that I do not care and it is not a question of desire.

It is a matter of context. 

I am virginal white.

Where others claim purity I remark naiveté

Where others see the absence or dark I see blank canvass.

I know nothing and I have known nothing else. 

Do I love her or do I love this light?

This water, This happiness.
Was I Unhappy before?

Perhaps, with want

to let my desires to be known 

but my want hasn't lessen

my hunger wasn't slaked 

it was whetted

this bliss, this quench.

I am so happy in her presence

but I fear that she has chosen poorly.

Has she chosen?

or does she simply enjoy the taste .

I Don't Know! I Don't Care!

I don't care if this moment is fleeting

I am happy in it. 

but it's so hard to feel, it's so hard to know.

What is this valley?

What is this bliss and dissent?

I am a love-addled fool and I hate this love

and I love it. 

I don't know what I want.

Love is a Pierian Spring

and in this moment I am stuck

I am too drunk and not near drunk enough

I wish for the release from this longing

but not the realization of sobriety. 

Author's Note

I apologize if its kind of cliché