Member-only story
Oh, the Riches We Will Find
A Poem
The problem with loving you, dear Asha, is that it’s too easy, not like the others who are like trying to cut a brick — or knowing the language in an opera.
I want to delete the past and just focus on now, and we can do that so long and you’re cooperative and don’t keep me on a clock.
I can’t rush our love; I mean I’d make it my burden to shoulder if I had to.
Imagine if we were just exclusive lovers — I wouldn’t have to worry about all those other boys.
I go for realism, however, and I know it’s not true.
They’re hard to ignore though, always trying to get to you, my lily.
I’ll gladly bestow on you my entire estate, because I suspect you’d take good care of it, eking out a gentle command to the gardeners, more like a lover and a friend than a baroness.
But before that day we can achieve anything, if you’ll just budge a little bit on my idea that you should be only mine instead of taking the time to enjoy your many beaus.
I’m so glad I’m at least in your circle, and among the many, your one particular flavor.
I speak of revival, my love, and when we’re finished, I’ll say that I have a fitness for passion, but no monopoly on it.
