The Conditions

I’ve a disability

So you can’t know me

Not precisely

As I was built

Of a mystery

And if I’m like you

If I resemble you at all

It’s not coincidence—

Reason is unlikely.     

I must go, forgive me

I’ve an assignation 

With the Cause of Love 

And its sessile undying heart. 

Love who you are—

Without wish, never being ready.