To the Impossible Future

I'm sorry I'm falling for you. You're married. You're over 20 years my senior. You're so handsome and smart and elusive. So, so impossibly deliciously forbiddenly hard to get. I can imagine how it would start. I fancy that it has, but I know it is only me who's heart races when our eyes connect for that brief, academic second. That impossibly brief second which is but a common courtesy to you. You who have given up all of your vices. I communicate with you but you do not play along. I'm clever and I know how to oh so slightly oh so gently play it not so safe. But you are clever, too. Much cleverer than I. You must know I am after you. Maybe you don't believe it or can't believe it or won't let yourself believe it or maybe you just don't want me, but you do not play along. They've played along in the past. I'm no stranger to this game but you are Smart. You know that it is a dangerous game and you are Settled. You do not play along but you are so very handsome and tall and peppered with age. Just the right amount. And so Smart. And strong. Too strong. I wish you would play along. I could be your rejuvenation. You could be that dark cool strong who lies heavy with knowledge under the transient stream. I fantasize about a moment of insanity. Just a word from you would be all I need. I like to hide. I seek escape.