Solitary Confinement

My love is
Plucked
Once a decade
From a plant only rippened
By the full moon of April
Sweetened by dew only produced
When the winds collide with light rain
Every other leap year
Men don't believe it exists
It is rare
For coincidences to turn into
Truths
And for this intensity to ever be
Real
It's some fantasy conjured
In some young man's head
And when he awakens he assumes
It must have been a dream
Ain't nothing this sweet
Must be an additive
This connection must be doctored or
Fathomed from some drug-induced sensation
My love can't be tangiable
It must be catapulted into the sky
Admired from afar
My love is broken by human touch
Sweat tarnishes it
Eyes diminish it's glow
It is only produced with ripened conditions
Yet it can't ever be stable for long periods of time
It either explodes all over men's suits or
Floats allusively away like dandelion seeds
People live on Earth
But I hover idealistic and perfect
In a hellish heaven admired yet alone
Captured inside a bubble of everyone's tomorrow
And a few next lifetimes
But no one's today
My love has no presence in the present
Rare equates with misunderstood
Special means complicated
And when it's assumed someone else will be able to grasp my love
It means I wake up alone