Monday, November 12, 2007

Dangers in Maybe (past love delusions)

Here it comes again, the flush of blood rushing from my heart, beating to test me.
It feels new, fresh like the smell of wet grass and hot harbor water in the air.
Not lost per say, not that way, left by circumstance, and now its happenstance.
I shed forlorn, I dispose of the shroud that hides what he meant for this girl inside.

Time moved on, men and loss and fear walls built, and so the memory of him did wilt.
Never forgotten, foolish and free, no judgment or expectation, a little frustration,
He hides that I mean something more than sweet sounding words
We both know the mind-beam I shine in the darkness and ho-hum, what a conundrum?

I want to love him in some way, but I don’t think we did. I’m quite comfortably caged, and aged, and wiser
There is something in his restraint, the draw to come closer in a subtlety, in him, in me.
I still see the kindness in his eyes penetrate the lies.
Holding hands meant being a part of him, claiming property in his heart, so visceral from the start.

Here it comes again, this foolish rush of memory, fading the lines of what I shouldn’t say
Too much can be given away. It’s true what I feel, and wrong that its still there, but I continue to bare.
The beginning of something, once started, no closure to fear, no open wounds to scar, its come this far.
Maybe its illusion, escape to something I conjure to justify the effects of his new presence

If it’s all false and unreal, I can recoil, instead of un-peel. Thousands of reasons say leave it alone.
Explaining wouldn’t work, It doesn’t make sense. He slithered beneath my skin, into the core.
Something from him is in me, and I apologize not for the sunken, now surfacing.
I’m not tortured, but not tame, seeking a glimpse that he felt the same.

….And I will wait patiently. Everything can fade, maybe this will, but life has a funny way of being a poetic stream of what could have been, and what does, and circles form, and disappear and bring it back moons after the fact.
Anything is possible, maybe never, and that would suffice, but maybe in itself is a supple sweet surprise

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