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      a rose in Spanish Harlem picked up by a shadow-man

     


Her name is Elenore.  Liked by all, she exuded confidence and loyalty.  If she could help you,she would be there for you.  When she looked at you and smiled, the natural laws of physics seemed to go haywire. Through some arcane method, I would feel that I was floating along in her glorious wake, my heart beating like a train engine in my frail chest.



By the time I realized she was walking into the foyer of her building, the spell would break and I would stand there in abject misery listening to noisy streets  of the barrio, with its unique smells of garlic and cilantro.   If only I could tell her my feelings  What a cruel joke, I thought to myself.  What business does a loser, a shadow-man have with a winner...a queen?  I turned around and headed back with leaden feet to the Stygian depths I had a risen from.  Even the trail of tears I left behind dried in protest one by one so that in the end it would be as though I never existed.  Maybe just as well.



I leave it to you, my friend.  Should I dare to pursue the unattainable, become worthy...a King come to claim my hearts desire Do I dare HOPE?



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