Never fails to inspire me when a lover like Stephanie goes cold... partly because of the difficulty in describing and sharing the experience, I mostly reserve for poetry ... this one seems a solid contribution to the legacy of such moments of sheer loneliness bringing up such suffering, nothing really can adeuqately cope but a good sound chaotic thrashing of words for effect.
I hope she never reads this, because the odds of her recovery and bringing me such inspiration unlike anything I've known has established something of a good foundation promising a stable production for now... but who knows ...
For The Fool
Just the ranging depth and flow of emotions coming from loving her
of this one extreme gear made just for her; but, irrelevant now, gone.
And my entire point of contact reduced to bits of overused memory.
I know my heart won't last swinging in this complex wind of the injury.
Where the one I always knew would come - showed up to spite me
as though her own pain was somehow my fault, with my agreement.
I don't have her, though I never stopped wanting, but to fall this low
having the one girl meant for me, betray that love, lie and abandon.
There is a cancer spreading over my interior fire, a flame in her name
once roaring hot, now spits and pisses like a sick and wretched sod.
Her space grows cold and small for me, and I'm decided against it.
How do you tell the one, she's destroyed you, when she's a goddess?
There's no time like the present for new love, the years pass though.
Ummmm ... forever gone, and mostly complicated by rarest beauty
convinced me of little to no possiblity a Love will properly claim me
and thus ... love did cripple, maim, disfigure, diminish, and muck
a life, mine this time, and for so long, it now hurts to think about it,
impossible for me to make any real sense or understand this curse.
The one remaining move is called giving up the dream, for the fool.
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