Rare Significance

Scarred by your own innocence.
A scent of rare significance
is tickling your nose.

You felt you owed it all
to her somehow. Blanking
out the writing on the wall.

She never really loved you
after all. It came to you
in bits and pieces.

Here and there, a touch
that brought you joy
and fear, entangled.

Asking for much more
than you had learned
to choose for just yourself.

But martyrs never really
knew of love. Nor reached
the depth of height in up above.

While here, within this flesh,
we are revealed in a flash
of that once long lost innocence.

A touch, a feel. A sense of real.
That overrides their lost intelligence.
Love living in the essence, after all...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .