My eyes play and wonder… I hold on to it tight… upside down… vice versa… vertically… clinging to the horizontal bars… I flip it over while he just tastes the rejection.

“To love is sad”, I read him saying… it ignores the color of the fresh-cut roses in granny’s green garden and refuses to wait… to wait for the dawn… for the deep empty skies and their sumptuous charm… it chases the true meaning and its monotonous sheen.

But why is it red on white? It’s a heart with no love or perhaps it’s only a dream… the dreamer’s dream of nineteen sixty two with a vacant heart…

… dreaming love.

S