Wednesday, 11 January 2012


I found her scattered amongst her ruins.
Her photographs all around her.
Her clothes lying helpless on the floor beside her.
Her old records playing whiny sounds just for her.
Her lovers in her mind, vividly and quietly tormenting her.

I lost her all around me.
She moves swiftly like the wind,
an impermeable light that I can't seem to grasp.
She's impulsive,
flickering like a candle light,
but I know she can be a rock of love and support,
when she is not in flight.

I want her.
I want to be her.
I want to engulf her.
I want to gorge her psyche and dissect her.

She is an incorrigible sentimentalist.
Won't let me do what I must.
I muster the strength to contain her,
but her energy dissipates through my fingers.
She is flimsy like a summer dress,
a light, a caress.

She is me. Or she is you...
One and all, love will come through.

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