The enemy is always winning
The enemy is time.
Together with love and passion
Is always blood
Has always been blood
Will always be blood
Metephoric,
Peripheral,
physical.
We are not trees,
Two individuals
Will never wholy fuse
Into one heart,
We do not bleed sap.
There is a point at which
Woman turns to man and says
Enough,
Give me this at least,
I paid for my good-bye.
He will concede
Your heart was never mine to keep,
It was only mine to lose.
Give me time, she says
Give me a second
Give me a minute
Give me your rations of time
So I may have more
And you may have less.
Suspended beween one moment and the next
Would you become aware
Of infinity
Cradling you in its bloodless womb?
Possibility dangles on a spiders web
Waitig to break free in the wind.
In the pause between
Destructable and indestructable
Is the memory
Back when I thought hope was somehting unbendable
Like ivory.
Love is like tree sap
It gets all over your hands and wont was away.
We are luna moths in the face of time
Drunk with scent
Always moving toward the light
A mass of green wings.
