Look in an Open Wound
This will heal in time. I can't say how it happened...
the first stub to keep me from walking, knifed back
until now - now she's stumbling, past any new view
no righteous female commander to world of intent
and the highest point in the history I call romance.
Stubborn, arrogant, fixed and dogmatic, her surprise
was not, bringing me typical denial to hide behind,
but how long I reflected it back to her and endured
the ache, now the break, of my achy breaky dis-cord.
Whenever she calls me friend, I will not forget to love
and forgive life for the shadows and darkest skies.
The irony is a stub the one dancer I've loved left me.
Taken really, by the cliche of her domestic paradise.
Points for style, points for grace, points for her face,
knowing the best has long past, leaving us to suffer
what a genius was born for, blood alchemy of bliss.
Just the debris while cutting free from binds to other
becomes, yet another bind in a frantic list of action
taking me away from inspired dreams, made of love.
Time slows, with every step unsure, and goals fade,
until the best, last, fade surrenders all vision of her.
3/2011 rjduberg
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