Old Poetry... (7)

The Sun Rose Like No Other...
written on April 10, 2007

There is passion to be stolen
from the breath of flowers.

And innocence can be regained after all.

I was a thing Etherial
Before your hands had touched me;
Filling me with sweetest poison,
A foriegn melancholy
Like liquid-velvet black
Sickness; Numbing; Smoke...
And my words are too graceful for you.

My brightness was what you wanted;
You yearned for my natural glow
To feed on.
But my darkness rivals your own
And you could not compete;
it consumed us both.
I win. Mine was darker.

And so, I emerged the triumphant
dead-thing.
There is no celebration in that.

I look at you now, and I realize...
Soon it will be as though we had never met,
You had never tasted my body,
differently from a thousand others,
or I your love.
It was not real; it was not ours.

I will forget your name
My sheets will smell like mine again.
And the loss is not somthing I hold
enough hurting words to describe.

But I am moving back to the sun now;
Stronger for the pain
Weaker for the taste of love
That lingers on my tongue, my lips,
My thighs full of memories of
staring into your face at night,
And the possibilities still
drip from my eyes...

Sometimes.

But knowing my worth now,
the true Endurance of my Nature
I am strong enough to fight
and to let go...

NO, I can fly.