You, mystery , but known perhaps too well.
In this moment, my thought,
as I close my door, yet again,
and walk in alone, you.
Of the flame, that dances nightly
in warm solace,
of the way, wished now.
You, that cheek gently turned
to meet the approach of my lips.
You, the one that I died for, in my head
and then, forcibly, chose life and lifelines.
That I would shake, out of this dream
to the reality, to the ground
where we both feel
the fullness, ripeness, of our passage through life.
You, the long hour and hours, days, weeks and months.
The escapes, distractions, forays,
but nothing entered into, of any depth.
Unlike, so unlike, the learning I had at your hands.
Your heart my teacher.
My chastener, my erstwhile lover.
You, of this harvest,
all of the juicy parts of us, should be known to each.
You, me, damnation, dereliction, resurrection, salvation, us.
You, my liberation.
My freedom is real,
my choices, multiple, it would seem.
You, your eyes must surely see,
I chose you, I choose you
and I would, again.