My spirit has been mourning you
the way land sobs for stars
in the form of morning dew.
My wristwatch reports the daunting truth
because my pulse was the time
and the hands haven’t moved since the loss of you.

Immune system lacking fortitude
it’s official: I miss you.
Tears oxidized my face in the shape of your initials.

Every night I hold a candle-light vigil
hoping the smoke might signal
that I wanna be with you –
beyond the twilight
’cause you are the highlight of my night
and when I think in hindsight to a prior life,
you were my wife.

The keys to our hearts create a spark
so there’s no need to fly a kite.
Unlike fire and ice, we can co-exist
although when I blow a kiss you throw a fit,
all we need is a sewing kit.

Like a lone sailor trying to row a ship,
I need your help.
But all I do know is :
you’re too wrapped up in yourself to touch me
so maybe you should make yourself into a mummy.
Do this:
grab all the love letters you’ve gotten from me
and attach it to your flesh using honey
until you can’t move and the words you study.
Lay down in valley where it’s muggy and sunny
right beneath a hive full of bees that are hungry,
and stay there until you admit
that you love me.

And trust me, when Cupid’s arrow paired us
it was a bull’s-eye,
so when you try to pull the wool over my eyes
with bull lines such as you “love another guy,”
it’s like parading the color red before a bull’s eyes.

No lie, I’ll make your man a cripple full-time,
decrease his skull size and twist his whole spine
if I decide to slip a mine into his bow-tie.
Then, casually step over debris to tell the guy:
… keep your hands off what’s mine.

And this would be no crime
because inside a chalk outline
is my broken dream,
so I hope all lovers become trapped
in a frozen stream.
When they see a doting theme on the motion screen,
I hope it abruptly ends before the closing scene
to show images of deformed and croaking teens,
making the whole movie theater choke and scream.
If ideal a moment seems in the sun’s golden beams
having a beautiful picnic among cloven leaves,
I hope their hearts disintegrate from molten steam,
making the population a bunch of cold machines.

Because if I can’t have you
… love is a joke and scheme.

By Darryl Walker Jr

(c) Copyright 2016-17
Daily Prompt