On Loving an Immortal

I bled again last night, quiet perilous hours
you held me in moonbeam hands but I was lost
cast upon shores of solitude, I stumbled out
into the abyss, even though we were entwined
somehow, beyond your eyes, past your earlobe,
in the solace of your arms, I still stray far
away from all who love me, through terrors of
my mind, you could be kissing me, inside me,
and still, body heat, musk, I wouldn’t notice
instead pain and isolation would beckon me down
into the harrows of a bruised brain, and it
doesn’t help that my love for you is a ghost,
immaterial, and no matter how many shafts of
golden light sprinkle down upon me, no matter
how many swans slip into my window, or thunder
bolts doors shut, I can’t even be incinerated
on your heart pyre, because even when all the
hosts of heaven and legions of hell are at my
wayward side, when all the gods of Asgard and
tricksters of all the worlds guide me, even if
I know I am loved beyond belief, there’s still
a voice that taunts my mind of a place you will
never be able to reach me, we each have our own
private prisons, worry threads doubt into palms
those are what the heart, head, and life line are
just ruminations of the divine on their mortal’s
skin, and though you are with me in quiet hours,
in bosom days, in full glass evenings, first there
by my side in the morning, you have no body, not
really, just electric touch, ecstasy tongue, a
freezing soul, and I can never, ever hold you.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts like a glass cage.


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