Wednesday, November 9, 2016

For all the poetry I cannot write

     I would find you in the darkest corner of my being, in the chaste intimacy, or in the failure to overcome my condition; anyway, I would not dare to search for you any longer. Maybe you are actually in my fear of an intense inner impact that I am not ready to face. Yet..? I tend to this latest version. I would write you down without any rhymes, only harmony rhymes; I would create you with miscellaneous lengths, since the inner flame does not allow me to limit you. Lyrics free from constraints, I would like to crown these white pages with your scent, to make my notebook the kingdom of a poetic delirium.

     How could I destroy the discrepancy between who you are and what you are understood to be? The chasm that could be born between these two edges would become an abyss over which only lightning would bow to. So I shall not write you, why would I, anyway? You place flowers in my hair, pleasures between my fingers and sophistication through the ribs. You enrich me as I, by myself, leafless of you, could not do. Stay mine, allow this selfishness of your keeper.

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Maira Gall