The motion . . . the contact . . . the surface . . . the resistance . . . the grounded feeling of being broken.
There was an electric current,
Flowed through my vein;
There was a fiery rose scent,
My nerves seemed in pain;
As if I was paralyzed –
Or electrified,
By the touch of your hand,
And when you gaze at me,
There was a connection bond –
As if we were in a synthesizing trap;
I flinched,
I flinched in the vision of this attraction;
Maybe this is distraction,
But when your round brown eyes circled into mine,
Then looked away,
I thought you have always wanted me –
And I flinched,
I flinched in our lovely little interaction,
Because this might be . . . the start.
Or just so I thought, because this might be the end.
And I flinched of the thought.
Who would want a start to be the end?
Who would want an electromagnetic force to be only just friction?
I did not want;
I was sure it would not turn that way,
Because there was resurrection of our hearts;
There was a strong connection;
You promised,
And I promised;
We were fond of each other;
Tender voices,
And soft kisses of our remains.
The quiet air stirred,
And in the dull breath, I heard;
You wisphered, "Sorry."
But today, the ashes of Wednesday.
Turned your desire into us,
Moving close to each other;
Then I noticed a trapezoid . . .
So I looked away from you for a little while . . .
And when the shape faded, I spun again to you;
I flinched at the alternate shock,
Because suddenly – in the moonlight,
You burned into ruins of ember –
There was an ache inside
No, not just an ache – a very large spine;
Because I saw it with my naked eye:
You, slowly falling.
The whole world stopped;
Time did not move;
My arm broke,
My arms broke,
Broken bone,
Broken bones,
Because this was never the start,
But an end,
Of our twisted love.
I will always love you . . .
