Somewhere

between the Jekyll

and the Hyde your siren songs

seduced me into a voracious vacuumed void

where precision lies in presence and in shaded perception, absolute perfection.

We spin

beyond time and space,

reverberating, taut harp strings

humming, intimately attuned, glowing in lightness,

our once shredded, gasping, exhausted souls now harmonically converged.

Blinded,

I feel you still

despite the shrouding mist,

my cloaked masked muse, for I

can’t help but love the you in me and am bound eternally

to gravitate

towards the speck

of me that’s left in you.

Words are not the silver thread

with which to stitch the lining that’s been torn,

nor are magic

or star dust—just—

the wisping breath of a precious kiss

licked luxuriously like honey off recollecting lips,

just the simmering eyes that draw, that delve, that devour.

Relative

or imagined,

linear or cyclical,

temporal paradox abound

for fairies and forgotten gods—for Caesar and Einstein, too—

had never

mathematically calculated

the single most profound--continuum,

hadn't ever scientifically charted the inertial trajectory

pertaining to the volatile dynamics of divinely destined love.

Somewhere

between the smile and frown,

somewhere within the thickest fog, from somewhere

in the density of purgatorial nothingness I fortunately found

ultimately, superlatively, incredibly, and gratefully—nearly--everything.

Love me, love me lovely-- into the throes take flight and forfeit forever

the nevermore torturous fight. Accept that all is rightly right,

an exception to the rule, and left to your deft devices

is to pacify the fractured self

into a unified whole.

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