in Remembrance of things Past,
memory, a lovers' cast,
the deep search–
the humming moon
my boyish swoon
your graceful perch
on the bough of my indeterminate reality.
–My soul–
in dream, in flight,
whirring
breathing–
belong,
"but not to me".
and as the thorns crawled
up my weak thought mast
you continue to stand
illuminated.
yet,
here I am,
drowned in the elixer
of pain–
searching the constellations
for your name.
ruined,
heartbroken,
praying it was all worth it.
Inamorata–
my beholden spirit.











