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.