silver blade
the clean crisp plunge into icy water
sharp, a pristine security
against the mundane
the inevitable
the utter torture
the agony that is love
'let me count the ways...'
how can you count the wind's breath
capture a moonbeam
take the silence of new-fallen snow and make it yours
to attempt is fool's play
the desecration of a silent temple
the only action permissible
possible, even
is the recognition of those few
fleeting moments when
when you realize
yes, this is it
the ultimate pleasure
but soon
fate makes itself
painfully
abruptly clear
all the minute gestures that delight
enchant, entice
taunt
with excruciating finality
pearl bites crimson
the soft scarlet that you will never claim as your own
humiliates as you gaze
each laugh
smile, glance
blush
a pleasured drop of blood

© 2005, Antonia Balvanz