Vivid, fervid David...

"Oh well," he often says. "Oh well."
Upon this mantra, my thoughts dwell,
Liking everything as is,
"Oh well..." oh so well.

I salivate at the sound, his voice,
Like a dog to Pavlov's bell,
Wanting far more than meat, I run,
Like butter on a baked potato, I run,
Heartstrings bound, no choice,
Everything profound, I rejoice!

He does not. No.
He does not. Know. Feel. Fathom.

He is...

David more of Michelangelo,
Than of Donatello,
Except in mind, and in soul, oh...
A heart of statue's stone?

A studio not so cold.

Though parts of me swell,
It is my feelings I want to expound,
For his modesty they confound.

With presumptuous intensity, yet ever tentative,
I believe I have crossed paths by chance,
With someone I find resonantly amative,
It came at a glance, not of countenance,
Rather of written word most subversive to romance.
He is that someone, to whom I am, of affection, probative.

I edge a high plateau,
Adoration's woe,
I will descend without death,
Oh,
"No, no," he says. "No!"
Oh,
I can feel the stealing of my breath,
I just wanna be your beau...

There's a land I wish to conquer.
A red stronghold,
A mild blue blur,
A mortal rhythm to behold.

He broke mine, yet I still want his.
Within it, I shall see and learn how best to repair my own.

I have never been so bold,
And I know it's uncajoled,
For it lacks patient reform.
Thus I vow here and now, to take it by storm.

Winds will whisper these words, I at the fulcrum,
Lights will flash unseen, out of sighted spectrum,
This prophetic harbinger passes by him in noble duty,
As lightning beneath clouds of shapeful beauty,
Plucked as a harpstring in cyberspace.

To that land, I send an army,
Every soldier a word,
Every comma at siege,
Every phrase a flank,
Every paragraph a regiment,
Absurd, yet be my liege, I thank, I repent;
For I have been much too smarmy.

Of red and blue,
Veined with a life I admire,
Land.
It is his heart I wish to occupy.
A heart for a heart.
Not that I'll ever break it.

"Oh well..."
So well, one bottomless,
Of water as of affection, rise,
Much a likeness to the blue and clarity of his eyes.

I miss. I long. I pine.
Charisma exuded from voluminous clout,
From a chiseled face of most handsome dys-swain
Through a voice I may never hear again.

There is no simplicity here,
Nor is there foolery or deceit.
I am casting a bid.
Everything for everything,
Wanting to be his anything.

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