May I be the narrator of our day?
I should probably talk in such great ways,
get deep into detail to prove that I, indeed,
remember everything.
Perhaps I should focus on your outline,
describe you in high vocabulary,
compliment your gentleness and manners,
advice everyone to be like you
while well knowing the impossibility.
You could introduce the best writer
with the gift of your inspiration.
However, if I may be a narrator of our day
I ought to appreciate exactly that,
ask for no more- such as literary recognition.
I will be as honest as the moment
I talked to you about colours and
I will not think twice about language.
I should only mind the fault of the
impression of you lusting after me.
Let us not spare them any details
when it comes to my faults,
since I take good care of yours.
I place my palm over your eyes and say,
'May I be the narrator of our day?'
My words ought to be raw
and pain their creator
once their denial is to be told.
I dare to foolishly be
a poet- a poetess- an artist
and admit my feelings for you
to whom my confession sounds
longer than all days we've spent together.
Our common fondness of simplicity
encourages my thoughts to come
out as they are and my lips to form
the adoration of your person.
We are awfully exhausted tonight,
walking wore us off but I'm willing to stay up
during the dark blue hours with you.
If you wish I'll conclude,
if you kindly let me I'll continue,
if you stay some more nights I'll be joyful
and if not-
I will breathe you in,
breathe you out
May I be the narrator of our day?
Attention to the wistful longing that awaits.
I'll be honest, but in case you don't
interrupt me with a startling feeling of
reciprocation, I'll pretend to fall asleep mid-sentence.
Would you like my storytelling to be your person?
I hope it all makes sense to you.
I call you brave. If I framed you anywhere in time
I'd say you fought in France with your patriots.
World War I, love, I'll make peace.
