Deliver myself a present of hope and wishes and maybe questions of love, promise of entwining togetherness with the present pretty maiden. I cast forth daydreams and wishful thinking of the need of her, desire for the mind, the body, like the touch can make me whole. I lie to myself again, old tricks die hard. Tell myself I will want this one, won’t tire of her, moody blues won’t get in the way of solace, I can make it work. But you know it’s not true, you can’t fight for love then stand loose while feelings dissipate in front of you. Every false emotion drained from your being as she says she’s so happy, you fooled another one old archer, do you feel good about yourself now? Plastered myself with warm feelings, gooey syrup centres to color the gray mists. Why you lie for!? Giving yourself a fake hardon for another chick you can’t honor, no lovestick, just a flaccid beleaguered candle melted to the core. All hugs and smiles but the good stuff gone, empty embraces leave me distant, there once was a man who wasn’t there. I’ve met him again today and tomorrow and tomorrow again. He is my passenger, driver, maker. He shapes and contours me into parabolic undulating rings, moving elastically around quiet stars in night skies, bopping dippers and majors. A silent tango swaying into the darkness of an endless midnight blue. It’s all control. Give in, give up, let go or grab a hold. Who directs, who leads?