THE RED LINE

THE RED LINE

Monday, October 27, 2014

SURGICAL STRIKE

SURGICAL STRIKE

You once said that you loved me, as you gave me every part of yourself, body and soul, inside and outside -- to have, to hold, to taste, to savor; the indescribable flavor and earthy fragrance of eagerness and brazen, urgent lust.

These were all mine for the taking, and I ate and drank of you, and dreamed and came to you for such was my appetite for your unbridled youth and blind faith in my integrity, and I could not possibly get enough of you in the dark of night, in the light of day, the perfume of your hair your breath your nakedness yearning for communion with my craving, like a starved animal such was I.

When after a rushed, compressed eternity, I had drunk my fill of you, and all of you in every possible way, with the trace of you still upon me, I abandoned you with an inadequate excuse framed artfully as an explanation; an announcement -- but it was a lie, and you felt it as I told it -- for I did not truly understand the delicacy of honest love given wholly and unconditionally in youth, and I failed to see the blessed that I had arbitrarily chosen to discard. 

I was only thinking of what I did not have, and was marching to the fool's drum of greater conquest.

You wept as I left you for the last time. 

Now, after I have regained [or gained for the first time] my senses, caught my breath and returned from the long series of unsatisfying conquests, I have come back amid much pretense and too much artifice, for you.

But you no longer live there. 

I am laid low by the notion that you could go on without me, that you would not restlessly wait for me, an alley addict for my soiled needle and impure drug.

And, for the very first time, I can feel my heart being torn from my chest by an invisible force as I just stand by, a witless witness to my own demise, for the loss of you.

You no longer live there. 

And my heart has been returned to me, piece by bloody piece -- but not as it once was. It is cut through the middle, never to heal, but yet continuing to beat, a somber, slow cadence, as I am barely alive. 

I am able, at last, to stand and walk away from where you and I once intertwined, but only to feel the pain of first love's incision with every labored intake of breath.

You no longer live there. 

But you left your mark upon me, deep within, never to be erased. Incurable, slow death in the form of a life lived in endless agony. I languish in longing.

You no longer live there. You moved on while I was gone.

---


Please email this poem to your friends and colleagues, and share this poem through your social media channels if you appreciated it. Thank You!

    CONTACT
POET VERITAS

   POET VERITAS