Sunday, November 21, 1993

ii. the scorpion

She told me once that her
time was over, that she was an
unreconciled past that soon must
end, and soon it did
the tile and steel fitted more
than satin, velvet, wood, I
paused and yet confirmed that it
was she, and saw her last seed
sown beneath eager trees and rain
she never said the words, but
left them penned on mirrors in
lipstick, tears, and silk, I
cried for her, and bled, and
spilled myself inside her soul
the words reflected, and her
eyes, my light, my love, I did
not know it was never her love
returned, but mine reflecting
off the mirrors of pale blue ice
absorb, my dear, her silent lips
betrayed, kiss to get burned and
keep the sun to love, the moon
must die, she cannot take, cannot
give birth, must yet reflect the
light that you create

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