the way of thingsMature

these wayward wishful flights
no longer grant distilled glory
once my private salvation,
as every fecund climax reached
portends my premature wakening:
fantasy has lost its deluding promise
and every crazy maybe shouts it's farce.

almost blithely dismissed at the scent of new temptations
and only missed now less fickle arms hold him
loved in all but consummation

and i am consumed
there and here
where love begot this sorry deficit
missplaced not, nor undeserved
a look ignited tinder
a word fed it
but it is the way of things
that much accounted happenings count null and void
and I am the fool of my own routine
felt, felled and forgotten

 

(5th Jan 2008)

The End

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