The Art of Bullfighting

This is me
Letting you go
Float away
Beyond the
Misty shoreline
Beyond the
Fading sunset
Finally
You have
Exited the
Dizzying tunnels
In my mind
No longer
Will I vainly
Attempt
To impress you with
My poems
No longer
Will I compare you
To an out of reach
Rose
The petals have died
In spite of my open palms
In spite of the relative calm
We are free
To flee
To return to the
Masquerade:
Looking for the
Art in bullfighting;
We are wrist-deep
In blood.