=Poison=

I realized, just the other day,
that a specter haunts me yet.
It is a subtle pull, and dangerous,
like arsenic in schokolade.

My heart has recovered, but my mind
remains a gordian knot to be severed.
Passing by unnoticed, untamed,
like curare in a milkshake.

Who am I to judge
the specter in the Bible?
She is the end of truth
like cyanide in a dream.

I fear her, I crave her, I dream her, I love her,
sometimes, a little, strangely, and bitter,
but always tender, fragile as I am,
like hemlock in a breeze.

How silly is the sun
to keep rising from the east.
How dreadful are the stars
to burn so awkwardly.
I shall shun the light of days.
I shall quench the fires in gray.

Hush now, and listen
to the tinkling at your wrist,
before it falls to the ground
and rolls away, and away
till it someday finds a way back to me.

Let your fingers dance in vain,
when I no longer hear that bell,
but may you reach into the hearts
of those who care and give
a smile and passing kiss,
like poison to my lips.