You, The Farther...
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
In the fast lane of rushing people,
In the mists and sand of the crushing steeple,
You,
My nemesis,
Grew to be my fascination.
You,
That is dark and opposite,
Make me hold my soul to the graves.
It must remain,
These incongruent patterns,
Parallel and ill-placed,
Entangled in our common webs
Of...
The missing, of
The incomplete.
Why now,
Looking closely, am I such a sin?
Why now,
Let me dance alone,
Whirling in my own one-way streak. Romancing in the hopes,
Running into the skies,
Shouting your name like hymns.
You,
So morbidly beautiful,
Are black roses buried on the dune.
You,
My perfect illusion,
Grew to be my obsession.
It must remain,
This forbidden want,
Feverish on the palms,
Wrapped in the most unlikely heat
Of agony, of
The burning...
And all my passion,
Sealed deeper than depth,
Encased in the sun's twilight face.
Then why now,
Still reaching into flames with bare hands.
Why now,
So urgently hollow in your presence,
Quivering in the waters of the mirage,
Suffocating...
You,
The unnamed reason,
Are my tree of divine sorrows
That grew to trance me,
To lock me
In love.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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