as soulmates
we are second cousins
and our minds meld
with all the sweetness and irony
of love supplanted by our fears
when I think of you
I see my Cyrano
fighting for the honor of his muse
and my admiration
is misplaced in thoughts of another
his words are shallow
and his inner poetry does not touch me
not like the words you craft
and yet the desire I feel
transposes itself on his face
and not yours
until
too late
I see your face and understand
where love's concept first emerged
all too late
for us to engage in the love
we have always imagined
we could have
sweet agony overwhelms me
at the thought that
we were meant to be
alone
seperate
unrequited
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