I dream about the serenades
I remember each bouquet
I recollect the cards they wrote
I recall sweet things they’d say
I received all the attention,
had a taste of every gift
I enjoyed quality time (a plenty!)
some acts of service, if not swift
and how I miss the ways
they’d touch me, bow me to their will
such kind physical affection
that I crave … desire still
confused pleasure in each moment
mistakenly I named the cause
external force, sexual proponent
when really born from karmic laws
how it feels is empty
how it feels is lost
how it feels was temporary
even now I pay the cost
still missing stupid moments
I still idolize false gods
still failing through each feeling
still attached to what is, was
still hopelessly romantic
I’m still burdened to the core
still looking to step lightly
while still planting seeds of war
still learning love and patience
I still apply effort every day
still seeking Three Jewels of refuge
and for simple blessings I do pray
so when
I dream about the serenades
smell a sweet bouquet,
find the cards in deep dark drawers,
and reread things they’d say
I let the attachment slip away
the feeling cannot stay
The Halfwit Writer 