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The Thinkers Bride
His words came as a
soft caress, stroking
over the sound of distant
rolling waves, just beyond
the cliffs.
He spoke of many things
that danced around in my
head, watching with neglected
eyes.
It was not to me he spoke
nor of me, but somewhere
beyond where the water meets
the sky.
Our given night transported
into his allegory, where a
new life waits to begin only
of death he can orate.
Forsook on what is
pledged so often as a
woman's happiest hour
he has no mind for life's
simple pleasures.
Abandoned to this quiet
suffering, his words begin
to make sense, and slowly
but surely I am drawn into
the depression.
7:38 PM - 12/8/2006 -
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