Alone At The Supper Of Love Poem by Mihaela Pirjol

Dining alone in a Chinese restaurant;
palms softly touching the satin seat:
waiting for some imaginings…
an asphyxiating anticipation,
an invitation upon an undelivered card:
expecting, but never arriving
at the supper of our hearts:
ages have galloped between us…
wild horses exhausted of galloping
and never arriving—never destined
to their destination; though their manes
still flutter free in a similar sea-wind
suffused with the scent of youth;
with the scent of memories,
emerging like these golden dragons
from the bloody-red-velvet walls,
galloping in the lamentable chords of guzheng—
tearing the flesh of my fragile heart…
we live our lives fragmented in bites:
never completing the meal of our life!
Love…we have tasted so little of it…
our hearts go hungry at night:
a continuous starvation
which cannot be saturated! —
it won't saturate with crumbs
of a long-finished meal…
memories are tired to be remembered—
there is no satisfaction! —nothing suffices!
We are dying of starvation of love!