There is here and there is
there is present, past and future;
there is today and then tomorrow;
and then there is this memory
that speaks of past beyond
our living memory to have and hold.
That touch – first touch of
Real within one kiss of ecstasy
as eye met eye and souls became
immortal in one moment so sublime
that the heavens noted and bowed down
to that, each moment when we dared
to touch within the vast completion
of this love of our reality of flesh.
Our kiss – oh utter ecstasy
Why did you ever think that I
alone could e’er begin explain it all?
For I am only one - one point, one particle
drifting on a path that seems
to have no end – and this, my love,
is all I know as true.
It seemed a unity, for just
momentary moments that we shared
in truth and verity of all sensation,
to be beyond all comprehension,
so alive and utterly creative,
within our touch, that this must be
that utter destiny – this love that only
becomes real in you and I - together
and completely unified.
Yet somehow in those particles
of even that – the ecstasy we knew –
grew the seeds of love’s destruction.
For my trust in you and in our love
somehow surpassed imagining;
and thus I never could imagine
that you would choose again a past
whose presence never brought you to
this overwhelming and complete
experience of love’s reality,
overflowing in these particles of
flesh and flowing blood.
I shall never forget, nor
can I speak
again as real – the vastness of this love
(for this, of all, remains unsayable)
that once, in moments lying yet beyond
all that seems no more than just
an alteration of the innocence of form
and thus surreal in its memory, yet oh,
my love, I know you know of which I speak –
this love that lies, even now in realms –
(unaltered - still exists)
born just at the core of all we are.
How is it then, that even
you feel you must defend
those other thoughts of right or wrong –
now lost within the choices
you’ve made real...?
And how, my love, can you
expect me to abide by these:
decisions made by just another touch
of hellish heat and burning sense
composed of life that died before
love’s deliverance from all the pain
we knew and sadly, taunts and haunts us
So please, forbid yourself
a thing at all, if only these lies
you've contrive are left
between a unity that once conceived
itself of love in interludes of
tender, total bliss...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...