Cupid’s arrow is still
wedged between his
ribs,
the girl of his
dreams
he met long after
marriage
says he ought not to
dream of her,
she still looking to him the way
she said she did when
still here
among us mortals,
a Venus, and a Venus fly trap,
a real catch if and
when
(and if possible)
you can catch her,
yet kind-hearted
enough
to publicly
acknowledge him
as her hero,
perhaps this is all he ever needed,
someone to need him,
a cub once now
a master of media manipulation,
a queen paying a
brief tribute
to one of those who continues to adore her,
not by far the man
she loves,
yet someone she can
count on
today, tomorrow, forever,
even as he sits in his cubical,
imprisoned by his own
life
and continues to dream
of what life might
have given him
had he met her sooner.
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