The Dark Side of Love



Obession

There are times when love and longing So numb the mind of reason, That if the object of your desire Should curse you to your very face, It would sound to you Like the words of a prayer.

Wisps

At times it is mystifying, This feeling. Like gazing into wisps of blue smoke Captured in a jar. Beads of mercury. Forever out of reach (And just as transitory) If I clasp the jar tightly in my hands And hold it toward the light, Even then, the beauty of it Makes me sometimes forget the source of its wonder, A fire that is dying.

Trance

Often times I find myself drawn to the warmth in a promise. Pausing only briefly to hear, I linger there much longer than I should. How foolish. Nevertheless, a fire of hope builds within me, and mesmerized I walk headlong into its flames.

For S

At times, I think of the sadness of the season, And of a face I will not see this year. I think also of the comfort of friends, And the love shown without words in my sadness. I also think of the laughter of former times, And the dances no one has done since '85. Crazy times together, wailing madeup songs Movies and books and shopping the sales. I think of the times we pieced together money for lunch And the times later when we shopped for diamonds. Yet, I am thankful for the kindness that shines in the eyes of my friends, And the bond that was forged through my lost.

Reflecting

My heart still reaches for you, Like some errant child that does not quite understand That everything which is in reach, Can not always be had.

Markings

Seared into the deepest part of me, Your name. You placed it there. As skillfully as any surgeon. And now the madness that is you, Consumes me. I carry your mark, forever.

Restless

At times the mind will not rest. Churning and tossing. Myriads of breakers dashing violently against the rocks. Thoughts emerging, like seaweed and mire Stirred from the depths of a restless sea. Your heart anchored into nothingness.

When We Disagree

I hate it when we fight. You, spitting out your displeasure in clipped words That ricochet around the room and pierce my body, Leaving me stunned at their violence. Me, slowing seething, Wanting to rush at you with all my might And shake and shake you until the torrent ceases. I hate it when we fight because I worry that this is finally it. You'll go too far. Or I will. And I don't know what that will mean for both of us. I fear that more than all the words you say. When we fight, I hate the silence after the storm. The strained politeness. The distance. And I know that I will be the one who finally Waves the white flag And sues for peace. Otherwise, there we will dwell In our encamped cities, Surveying the wasteland between us.

Private Party

Inside my heart, Reserved for a party of one, Is a standing invitation to you.

Tracings

When soft, I think on things not long ago, I pause to see the changes each of us has made. Like markings etched in stone, That can be traced but never quite deciphered. And yet I marvel At how things long dead, Can rend a heart and cause such pain to flow.

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