Though

Well, it's a bit heartbreaking sometimes you know? But healing blooms from the soil of hurt. And so it goes . . .


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Though young you smiled and sipped from chalice,
Filled with blood and bits of Jesus, I shunned
My wisdom script to smile and sip in turn.
Though you weren't the Virgin I knelt and loved
Before your shrine of sun and lips and sway.
Though God carved in you a need whose pursuit
Precluded me, and subtleties of want
That neither kiss nor learnedness could aid
Or place in meaningful matrix, you taught
Me play as mind gave way to hips and hair.
Though parting's path was rough, after pleading
With shrunken brain on silver plate for grace,
After weeping at angry feet and worse,
It still felt good to chart and name the dreams
Of eyes and drink the moonlit lies with you.
Though we built sad fictions to shore the blanks,
Though you came in memory's wind to migraine
The night, our tale is not decreased by ends
Or stormy means, drained by grief's hyperbole,
Not dark as if your sun had ceased to be.