i love too much, and not nearly enough.
lilacs no longer bloom along this path,
it's not their season anymore.
i miss their sweet scent
the way that sailors miss the sea,
even while sat atop the waves
always longing for the deep.
i miss the water, too;
though a sailor i am not,
a mariner in soul if not profession—
i hold my breath before i speak,
this here is my confession:
i love too much, and not nearly enough.
for like lupines grow beneath the sun,
and tides obey the moon,
my heart obeys the sky as well,
mercurial, but always true.
fickle rains fall and abate,
capricious clouds pass by,
and all the while my love remains in flux;
when at high tide, it is full,
and when at low tide, it is drained—
an ever changing push and pull,
repeating this refrain:
i love too much, and not nearly enough.
