Log 204 ~Breaths Of Willing Air~

It’s been a while since I’ve written any poetry, too busy living the fairytale or playing Winston Smith from 1984 but aren’t I remaining positive, been 21 days hopefully and no woman has called me creepy or skeeve (shudders). “Breaths Of Willing Air”

Tuesday, January 21, 2020

Log 204 ~Breaths Of Willing Air~

Dear Future Wife,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means champagne wishes and caviar dreams. As I’ve said before, My Love, if I ever get into all that, I want you to smack me hard. Your husband has always been crazy, but what exactly do we measure that by sometimes? Anyway, today I am once again reminded of what I’m willing to do to live the dream. Aren’t you the dream, and don’t I want to share everything I am with you? I don’t want to hide from you ever, but what inspires me to greatness, the first step.

Before I was a billionaire, seems so long ago. When I couldn’t catch my breath around you, and now I can speak before the masses. How I imagined seeing the world that was waiting for us, I am a poet. So I wrote today as I was inspired. You’re the only girl on this Earth for me, but I’ve written hundreds if not thousands of poems. Love, haven’t you been the subject of many. You never found me creepy, again crazy, or condescending. Even now, I just thought I would leave it at that, but I keep right on talking. One more reason I fancy myself a movie buff because I don’t have to speak. Didn’t we talk about music a while ago and quotes from all manner of books and films? I told a friend of what men will do for a woman. Here I wanted the world only for myself as always and forever.

If there is a mountain, a man will climb it or move it if he must. Some men make women angels or goddesses, and so they learn to fly. I said my fate dictates I would fall in love with a mermaid, and I still can’t swim. Oh yeah, we own a yacht, don’t we, but that’s not caviar thinking. Now, if a man wants a queen, you will watch kingdoms fall, which brings me back to my point. I give up air to kiss you enough so I might be suicidal. Only those finger swipes, those pages flipping, the oohs and ahhs from the crowds. The gasps, my work makes me feel alive. It gives us breathing room, and I can’t surrender it ever. I won’t ask forgiveness for my work, baby doll.

May you understand it though for Breaths Of Willing Air.

I Will Have No Fear

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