my phil of soph

I was immature back in the day;
I just didn’t know how to communicate
I was growing and learning, and I still am;
I didn’t know how to say what I wanted to say.
And things could have been different 
if I was who I am today
so I guess this is a poem about the one that got away

There was always something about the way your name rolled off my tongue. I spoke that word like poetry, like songs Gods sung. Waves of bliss would cradle me like rays of morning sun and lust would lull my soul to sleep with a honeysuckle hum.

If the only planes I could meet you in and have you in my sight are the lucid, deceptive hallucinations I go to in the night, then I would put my soul to rest, relinquishing the light, because I hunger for you deeper than merely appetite.

Give me a glimpse as fantasy is what keeps me alive. I would be content with just a dream a mirage in my mind’s eye. I awaken slowly, damning the morning, dissevered from the high as reality slowly sets in that you were never mine.

Even if it’ll never be, just a momentary lie, I dream of you relentlessly, a chokehold on my mind. The clutches of a succubus, delinquent, yet divine I love a man I barely touched, lips only once intwined.

But I feel the feeling of his skin as if it happened all the time.

It’s been seven years and I clearly hear the way he said my name. I can paint a portrait of his smile like I saw it yesterday.

I recall with clarity how close we came to love, and wonder still if there’s a chance to try again one day.

But he loves another woman now.

The one that got away.