I see you often
What is, what was, what could have been,
For a moment, the illusion carries me
before letting me off at the station of self-delusion.
barricades at the intersection of our roadways
put there by the municipalities of the heart.
Blood red tape draped to mark the boundary lines.
Patrolled by sentinels
of false expectations and arbitrary rulings.
bound and surrounded
Memories, like fingerprints on my mind
that now identify every thought,
have served to convict my heart
of the gravest crime of all:
loving too much
knowing too well.