Of love that never was.

Give me the
nightsky,
the feeble dance
of the stars
hanging off
the centre
of your eyes.
Give me all
your being,
the carcass
of your memories,
the blood
that fled
your body
in search of
absolution,
give me
everything
you have,
all the bruises
woven
around your
heart,
all the scars
that live
on your skin,
that dwell
hauntingly
in your thoughts.
I want you
to give it all
to me,
I want
to feel
how it
feels to
die
when we are
apart,
how it is
to be
reborn
when our
mortal coils
meet,
I want to
feel destroyed
and
humiliated
by the power
of my love,
I want to
feel ashamed
and
embarassed
about
the way
your fingers
run and
rest
on me.
All I want
is what I
cannot
have
because
love
was made
of sighs
that never
were,
of letters
that
no man
and
no woman
ever wrote,
of tales,
of legends,
of the beauty
that is
love;
an unattainable
force
that pushes
you violently
on the ground
and wraps
its hands
around your neck
and then sinks
into your heart,
squeezing it,
scratching it,
staining it,
draining
its life.

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