Eros, Thanatos, Psyche.
The lawn gathered itself together and love
descended to my surprised eyes from wide
opened unexpected skies. Delicate, fine-boned,
the creature was and an odour of like
drizzled through the air in moist tender
similes. And then something stung. But a god
it is, I exclaimed, as pain barbed into my
wounded arm. Harm, I protested, and
the deity rotted while tears stung my eyes.
It stank at me. Morgue exuded from its pores.
You were love, I complained, as stench
gathered on the surfaces of disgust.
I told those skies, this is wrong, and all
of nothing answered with no, no and no.
Love, I cried, and a fluttering began,
as if the air held my hand, and something
other than before came down, holding
in cupped hands, an emptiness that meant
all. And the fullness of that void
shaped form, and lostness trembled
as the air reformed its chords.
It was nothing it was more than enough.
Best
Dave
David Bircumshaw
Leicester, England
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