I secretly design to voyage back in time,
Some seventeen years, to make you mine.
For presently no hopes can my heart rekindle,
And my being with yours, alas cannot mingle.
You, mister, are old and married and a father too,
Yet if my unthinking heart, it trips, what am I to do?
Surface my verses, my nymphatic trick to seduce you?
Save, in the process, scandalous scandal shall ensue.
Often have I fancied whimsical possibilities,
But alack, in parallel worlds, not in reality.
So I shall travel through the lanes of time,
To chance upon the street where you used to reside.
It will happen so- on a fairly warm night in June,
When the water rises, with the rising moon,
I sat by the sinuous river, you in my mind,
And you turned up there and took me by surprise.
Alone, yet un-alone in the company of each other,
We discuss art and life and heavens and literature,
And we discuss ourselves with intensity so intense,
That what followed next shall remain shadowy suspense.
But we are not by the river, nor years back in time,
What I hoped would exist, exists only in my rhyme.
My hopes must drown, collapsing time’s span,
For I am just a girl, and you are a married man.