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The lover who rejects you is the cruelest god.
This cruelty you expected all along:
When you walked with her, when the two of you listened to a song,
It hid under everything you two felt and said,
In a love that made you warm—just as now you wish you were dead.
The lover who rejected you practiced long hours
To reject your eyes and reject your flowers
And to be cruel so much to the point
Where you knew it wasn’t you loving,
Because confusion presented a scene:
Knowing love made mad a love that was green.
You look at him loving her who is loving you.
Love is too loving. Love doesn’t know what to do.
Love is here, and there, and you are no longer true.
You cannot control desire, leaping into many,
And more, and cannot stop seeing, thinking and feeling.
You push the blankets away and you writhe and you look at the ceiling.
But the orgy ends.
And cloudiness is a love. And a sunset cloud a sunset sends.
And then, a calmness pervades.
The madness ends. The grass swallows up the shades.
And now you ride a leafy stream onto a silent lake
And see only her. Only her. You live—only for her sake.
Or at least, that’s what you think.
The ground is soft. She knows you will sink.
And then, a calmness pervades.
This kind of madness always ends. The grass now has the writhing shades.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
