June 2015
Searching for Sam

Searching for Sam - 6/26/15

When I was 15 years old

I met a boy on the street in a city in Russia 
Where mystifying I finally felt at home
An outsider all my life until one
Moment isolated in a mind beyond my years
I'd never experienced the infamous elixir of two 
He stood purposefully in a park on a spring night 
Lamplight or was it starlight no clouds could obscure
Passion flaunted from bold brown eyes as dark as death
No life had ever seemed brighter to me
As if every other human being had been a ghost
Suddenly we were lovers though never consummated 
Youthful passion's promise kissed us
With more zealousness than I've ever felt since with 
Anyone and I've had no shortage of my share of true loves
It occurs to me some nights and select mornings
That ever since our separation formalized by borders 
More of circumstance than countries cemented by subsequent 
Groping hands I could not fend off 
From clichés of happenstance fleeting as a cold
But permanently etched upon my post pubescent soul
I've been searching for his rough hands in everything
I've dreamed, created, won and lost like ribbons fading
In display cases I've struggled to recall his touch only inasmuch
As I was not paying close enough attention like 
Jesus I believe there is a Sam in most of us if I look 
In a mirror and let my eyes tear he resurrects me slowly
Fear is not an option neither is hesitation instinct's
The only currency of a paramour so true philosophy's no use
Politics deceive only passion's fruitless merciless avarice rules
Are of no use excuses an embarrassment commitment
To ideals beyond what any girl of fifteen would choose haunts
Me like a cruel joke is it possible to overcome the incredulity of fate
Without insanity's cold touch upon my lips 
It permeates the things I hold most precious glasses
Can't correct a quest for someone pitiless except for love's
Misguided mark an arrow through my Cupid wrist
A helix oh this Jewess has only ever coveted golden thread 
To embroider beauty's curse embolden history squander poetry
How involuntary it's become, this searching for Sam in everyone