I yearn for Madam’s touch more than I need to intake oxygen. Have I not made these feelings clear enough? Do I need to exhale into my brass instrument, birthing petal breathing hurricanes that crawl upon the land from my oceans of care. They will layer everything in the color of love, her pink hue. Is this what it will take to win her gaze? Because it’s starting to feel as if my works aren’t enough; that she may not be as pleased with her orb as I thought she’d be. If need be I’ll start again. I’ll create a solar system only for her. All I want is for her to love me. Is this asking too much?
Jonathan M. Emerson