[] The Woman of Love

The woman of love belongs to another,
But does she belong to herself?
Endless affection burns like venom,
And my heart is placed on a shelf.

I wrote the word ‘love’ in the sand,
And instantly thought of her face.
For a gesture of such little meaning,
Out of time and out of place.

I reached out in earnest to touch her mind,
Her response so brief and contrite,
I can’t play by the rules that I may win her,
Regardless of what’s wrong or right.

The woman of love belongs to another,
Does she know just how I feel?
The projection of her perfection,
Is everything I want that’s real.

I wrote the word ‘love’ in the sand,
And instantly thought of her heart.
Unnoticed unwanted attention;
More than miles keep us apart.

I would give to her the sun and the moon,
All of the stars up in the sky,
But that’s just recompense, for my own desire,
I just could not live that lie.

The woman of love belongs to another,
Is she happy within the quotidian?
The joy of life can be so elusive,
A prolonged union can wear thin.

I wrote the word ‘love’ in the sand,
And instantly thought of her soul.
Could I ever trade places with the man,
Who for so long held that role?

Seeking relief from untamed feelings,
Not too hard to wonder why.