He is distant. I can't grasp him.
I'm in a see-through bottle,
where I see Love, yet my love, he sees me not.I surround myself with roses red, roses fake, roses trapped.
I'll get love to move with me, to where we work, on give and take.
He is distant. I can't shape him.
I unscrew a gleam of hope, it begs so bright, yet, my love, he sees it not.
"We are going", I tell my love. I line our bags, with roses, cold.
I climb inside, and wait, he acts, and, my love, he lets me wait.
Love is with me. I can use it.
As I unpack some lingering thoughts, I now discern what's fake, what's truth.
One by one, I let fall, all semblances of what Love ought to be.
Now I am lighter, I smile at Love, and Love reciprocates.
