Equivocal Translucence.

Last night, I looked into my lover's eyes.
I rested my hands on his chest,
allowing myself to sink into the splendour
of his glance
vibrating love and wonder through me.
His lips slowly curved upwardly
and I beamed with primitive exhilaration.
I was, what could someone call,
happy.
This moment of infinite adoration
took an abrupt turn
and placed me into a state of
agonizing inertia.
He smiled no more and
looked at me with eyes full
of overflowing worry.

This was a dream.
This was not real.

He then acquired a look of
relief
and attempted to soothe me
back to tranquility.
His arms engulfed my once
exuberant body
reassuring me that
this was him and me,
captured within a few frames
of mortal time
and that this was real
because our love
is real.

I buried my sallow face
into the comfort of his chest
but knowledge was
a form of power
that rendered me powerless.
I closed my eyes
and allowed my tears
to break free
off the fortress of woe
I called my soul.
He then took my face
in his gentle hands
and turned it
towards his.

This was a dream.
This was not real.

Once there was a tree,
blooming and breathing through the
flowers of its inner spring.
But then a lightning penetrated
its colourful buds of joy
and left them severed,
distraught, scattered.
This tree was now cut in two,
a lifeless remnant of the present
and a moment in an unattainable life.
Barely breathing
and with a heart bleeding from within,
this was an entity who
wanted to live
but life
didn't let it.


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