I’m slowly dying away
these long and lonely hours
waiting for you, Eduardo, my almost lover.
So near, and yet so far,
this snail-paced almost love affair
tortures me with tempting promises,
aching fantasies, and bittersweet betrayals.
Whenever I imagine
the unspoken slow pleasures
of our chemical bonding
and mingling energies,
I feel the barely restrained
naked aggression waiting—
waiting in some elusive
time-warped dream.
There I’m suspended in deep desire
as I grasp at slow-motion visions
of what could be.
I dream that we glow in the magic
of transforming love energy,
the catalyst of our lives.
Is this catalyst just beyond reach?
I’d prefer to watch snail races
and digital clocks
than be your collector’s hobby
or a substitute side dish.
Will we always live in a world
of anticipation
landscaped with question marks?
So near, and yet so far,
waiting for you, Eduardo, my almost lover.
February,1998 revised May, 2004
Flowerpoet 
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