“ Romero, oh Romero, wherefore art thou Romero”

 Words such as Shakespere speaks  thee

You ask and request this of me

Fair Julianne, thou art dearest or nearest to thine heart..

And of me you ask to speak of romance to woo thee and 

Whisk thee away…

For the request of a maiden so fair as thee, 

My hand shall bring words between paper and pen on this day.

Shall I begin with the meeting of love from afar?

Oh how I would adore to be where you are.

 

My eyes first fell upon your beauty, 

Almost 6 months of long ago..

Within a photo of many your beauty did show.

With haste I had to be knowing of this maiden so fine

So quickly I clicked through the tags of the book of faces,

Endlessly searching for a profile  with a match

It hath got to be here some place

Then, alas, my delicate rose, I did find, 

Julianne…

To shame she sets the summer moon with her light

And dimmed every last star in the sky.

Her page speaks of poetry and quotes about life

I see she is single, 

I must make her my wife.

​

Months have passed since I sent that first message…

Replies and posts daily we’ve shared since.

How I longed to kiss the had of the one 

Who has responded and shared in my joy.

Soon my fair Julianne and I would finally meet

 

In the time of the months of 2 and 2

The day had arrived to  join lips with my love that is true

Fair Julianne, 

At the airport I shall wait for you.

Then with my broken heart, I begin walking away

When I did not see you get off of that plane on this day.

But then another maiden, not as fair or as youthful as you

Embraces me tightly and lays a kiss upon my lips

 

“Oh Romero! It's you ! My love that is true”

 

Julianne?

 In my mind, I must question.

Silently thinking, 

This cannot be  the object of my affection

Surely you are mistaken as this couldn’t be true.

My Julianne’s locks flow down to her waist

Her eyes crystal blue, 

Her radiant skin kissed by the sun 

Her figure and form are fit and fine

Her lips are full and colored of wine

 

Who is this woman, hair cut to the chin

Eyes that are dull and darker than sin

Skin that is wrinkled and awkwardly pale.

Of the potatoes that lay on couches all day, 

Oh how does her figure resemble in such way

Where goes her lips? 

Behind lines tasting  of cheap chap-stick

Her voice is shrill as she shrieks out in joy

 

“It is I, Julianne!”

 

****

​

The sun has set times thirty since then, 

I may be deceived but I thinks she’s moved in.

The paint of which has swallowed her face-

Her daily routine staining every pillow case.

Strutting around in a jump suit two sizes…

Three sizes too small.

Her laugh sends my skin in a crawl

Her sun-kissed skin is really a spray.

Her nail of acrylic I found in my food yesterday.

 

She catches me daily as I scroll through her page,

She thinks that it's lovely I still pine over her this way

If only she knew, 

I wish she’d just go away. 

My wish upon wishes is for my real Julianne

The one made of filters, and what looks like real suntan

A photoshop figure, and extra long weave

Her dreamy contacts of deep crystal blue 

That Julianne is my real love oh so true

What I wouldn’t do to kiss her filler lips,

To dance with that beauty

My hands on her hips

​

Instead I am plagued, and in agony this day 

With this gastly woman, trying to take my last name.