Love In Vintage
A vintage gypsy,
full of romance and thrills.
I was once a charcoal pencil,
not yet burned, unused.
Yet there was a fire
roaring beneath a wardrobe
un-adapted by the masses.
They all knew how to stamp it out.
My secret in justice is like the dark.
We can yell it out into the unseeing air,
but we do not know what
other creatures lie out there.
Once said, once gone.
Gossiping is the nectar of the youth,
the soot on their shoes.
The vintage gypsy is truly alone.
I roamed the distance, the plateau
of independence. That endless land
would not lie to me, existing until
my senses faltered.
I met a lonely rogue, unkempt
with a jagged grin. A heart of gold
with a diamond clear soul.
His love was mine, forever and always.
“We are the sea, my gypsy and me.”
We are the waves salty touch.
We are the sinking, sandy shells.
Together we release, together we repeat.
A cry rings out and our Aphrodite is emerging
in her vintage skin, in enduring love.
We bask in joy far away from these days
and old age, beyond the wrinkles.
Those voices once heard
in a wild youth are drowned
out by this beautiful storm.