Love is no tomorrows
from my book WOMAN OF THE MOON
I was driving down the Rickenbacker Causeway
and I witnessed a love affair.
I had the sun, posing to my far left in the west
as I drove north over and up the bridge.
He wore an orange smile.
I felt as if he was flirting with me,
but I realized he was looking past me.
His stare was profound, warm, and it completely transversed me.
He was staring at the moon.
She was in the far east. She was full.
The Snow Moon.
Wearing her glimmered silver rags.
She was lost in her dreams and in her songs.
She danced and frolicked around the stars and the different purple shades of the sky.
I felt the passion of the sun.
I felt his desire to cross over the ocean that separated them.
He was in awe of her. He was blushing; turning red.
He knew he couldn’t approach her, touch her or smell her.
For the closer he’d come, the farther she’d spin away.
He wondered if she thought of him.
Little did he know, her inner glow, her sparkly skin was alive because of him.
The sun had his last minutes counted.
It was time to go away. Time to meet his fate. The setting of himself.
He only knew to rise, and lived oblivious of the concept of a tomorrow.
He only knew about his present. He only knew about his love.
This love that powered the fervor and ferocity of his splendor.
But he also knew his death was near.
As he set, as he slid down the horizon and disappeared,
he left his last words in majestic pinks, reds and orange-tinted clouds.
He wrote he was dying happy because he had loved.
I kept driving down the bridge.
The sun's last sigh took over my skin.
Every pore of mine was in love with his love.
And I wondered:
If the sun had known about the existence of a tomorrow,
would he have loved the same way?
With the same tenacity?
I look forward to falling in love again,
like the sun,
after many sunsets,
as if there wasn’t a tomorrow.