G in possibility

Perhaps it’s all made up. Enter the realm of possibilities with me, g

I dont even know why you’re angry with me, are you

Because you’re not, you’re angry with yourself, really

Because you’ve never been in love before, perhaps

You didn’t sell me out, you sold yourself out, g, but

I still love my true love, my love can not be bought out, I still have love

Soon I’ll be in a caravan, with lots of love, you in a mansion with lots of money, but still, we’ll be worlds not touching

(Tho twain), or…

I hope you don’t mind, but you would mind because apparently you hate me

So it doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m writing you a love poem

And I must be doing it right because the freaks are wailing in the street, like demonic leeches that suck air

The mirror thrown askew – me and you – in the realm of possibilities

But, you still love me, in truth, and I still love you madly, desperately, passionately

Being mirrored bodies, within the possibilities

Yet, in all the realms of possibility: it’s impossible not to love you