WATERING ROSES, poetry

watering roses

i love you as the man who waters the roses
on the grave of his dead wife
for is he in love with her?
no. she is gone, and he is alone,
with only the dark shadows of their past for company
what he loves is the idea of being around her
the memories, the happy days, what they used to have

am i in love with you?
yes, i would think

but then you stab me in the heart for the umpteenth time
spilling my crimson blood of your betrayal on stone
and i wonder how i could ever bring myself to love you

and then you touch me
and say that you love me dearly
and i smile, and say that i love you,
as the sun loves the moon and i will be happier than ever

so, darling, am i truly in love with you?
or am i in love with the idea of us, hand in hand, happy together?

i love you as the sun loves the moon
meaning i am willing to disappear from the naked eye,
in order for them to see you shine
for when they forget about me, they admire you

perhaps in the end,
i am in love with the idea of you

or maybe this is love, and all beautiful things are worth bleeding for

so i ask myself "am i any happier with you then the lonely man,
watering the flowers on his dead wife's grave every friday afternoon?"
or am i just watering your roses, wishing for a miracle?