Lara

“You have done all this before”, you said,

claiming you did not mind, denying any

needle of hurt in your heart.

Was I a fake, I mused

in the silence before reply, did I, each time,

take out love’s hypodermic and

press it into old veins running cold, did I

only project onto each new, blank canvas

that came my way?

“All your muses have dark and wavy hair”, you said,

pulling at the straight, silk auburn of your own.

I had no answer – nothing to say –

a springing fox caught. A vacant ‘criminal’, I ran

through an excuse like moving fingers across a brow:

‘my anima has dark and wavy hair – raven

hair and exotic eyes; I looked for her, but I do not now,

she is of the past and gone or just un-jealous now.’

Relaying messages to and

fro across nerve ends, a ‘spiritual’

Casanova, I wondered myself to be, loving

love in all those times and places, the tremble

in the veins, the focus and shining in the moment.

But no, I feel, as a light and stream

pass through a glimpse of glade as the night lifts,

this is a new pattern, a new palate,

a different sense of place and time,

this is a chance;

here, in you, I will embolden,

here I will battle and storm with you,

here I will share the rage

and tremor of you,

I will bathe with you in argument, as

we combine in seeking and create a newtopia

with our mutual flame.