the not so happy afterthought
of our unrequited devotion
is unusual. . .so rigid
the formulaic rerouting

of eyes in the room can see it;
contained, we cannot deny it,
yet we both choose to evade it;
to concede we made past blunders. . .

thrusts us toward the unnatural,
casts jagged indelible lines
all possibilities lit dim. . .
banished by our human logic

images of candelabras
drip soft wax on paled aide memoire,
splits asunder hearts once precious

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

© 2004 cynth’ya lewis reed. All rights reserved