Oh My Love; to be continued . . .

Will you tell me who my lover will be? Will she be the secret one, who kisses me behind that red brick wall, in the alley, beside the dumpster? Conceivably, she would be pretty, in a young coquettish sort of way. Tell me, will she be endowed with light hair, full sanguine lips, with eyes teeming with love for me?

You tell me who my lover will be! And I will love her immensely, like the essence that feeds that flower, there, strongly prevailing between the crack in the sidewalk. I will love her unrestrained, as the breath, here, in my waking lungs. I will love her without remorse if I can, and if not, with apology when I have not.
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Tell me, who will be the lover of such a man:
I am bold and suffice it to say, sauced. I’m like a migrating sea captain without ship or home; eternally kept to land, searching the horizon for his ship, waiting faithfully to be told which one will be his to endeavor.