I lust for love as I think back to the times when I used to love lust.
I speak of love as if its familiar -
it's foreign like a country not yet ventured to.
I speak the language fluently, though.
An unrequited monologue center stage under the bright lights of a twin-less flame.
If only she was in the audience.
The vacant auditorium is ghostly and I the lone spirit.
The haunted sounds of my voice reverberate of the walls in a loveless arena.
Turn off the stage light.
Let's not waste the captured sun on a solitary soul.
I'll sit on the stool and wait for her presence.
My love is a performance rehearsed to an inexperienced perfection.
I thought I heard the door open once, thought she was finally on her way inside. The stage light shone on her seat as I anticipated her arrival. I heard the door close, but no footsteps after. Maybe it was my imagination.
Or maybe she's just not ready to see me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem