My Only Possessions

All’s I can do is love you, admire you, 

and put that love and admiration out into the universe,

to be warped and manipulated until what started as pure and labyrinthine 

becomes mediocre, gelastic, asinine-

as they breach the gap between my heart, my true emotions, to your perception. 

Covetous of me to assume cohesive tranquility between us, 

to anticipate your gracious, familiar voice to reverberate through the chasm of my vulnerability,

for your gentle mind to bear the burden of empathy.

Who am I to demand peace and comfort-

to orchestrate reactions that are not my own.

I can only control

my thoughts,

my heart and soul, 

which will perpetually, forever, and unceasingly

ponder you

and adore you without bounds.

If my intentions aren’t pure, I don’t comprehend purity.

In my deathbed, that is all I’ll have, lining the creases of my burial dress,

recollections of you, images of you and our memories;

The only things I’ll have to my name-

the experiences I own.

Those are my only possessions.