I asked what flavor of ice cream he wanted
Vanilla
Keep it vanilla.
Being the saccharine-sweet sugar I am
I scooped him a sundae of wonderment,
a fudge-dipped, cherry tipped of desire
on one hell of a banana boat of fantasy:
And, hon',
We don't sell vanilla here.
Not a value judgement as so much just a statement
I think if you really wanted to keep it that way
Vanilla, I mean-
referring to a relationship fancy-free,
you wouldn't find yourself
wheeling 'round in the revolving door
to a store you continually return
over and over again
only to rediscover it doesn't carry
the Vanilla
you're looking for.
I implore:
Rid yourself of this cognitive dissonance
once more
Resolve the urge to continually revolve.
Make peace with the mistake it was to walk away
to turn down the sundae
for that simple, predictable-
and oh so palatable vanilla taste.
Quit participating in the pretentiousness
that what we have is what we live for
when really, it seems that if we have what we lived for
we might surely cease to live at all-
'cause the over indulgence in the what of our desire
rather than in the actual desiring itself
seems to give away
give in
and make hasty waste of triple scoop, chocolate decadent fantasy.
Have your vanilla- but don't come 'round here seeking it out.
And, if you do,
don't be surprised when it turns out that in
the temporary absence of your continual return
the store you repeatedly seek
has closed up
gone underground
or just underneath-
the sheets perhaps
of something more permanent,
like an enclosure of circumstance and choice-
remade and remade ad infinitum
Latin for I'm stuck.
Latin for your Vanilla-bean of regrets in choiceless living.
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