Here in the garden, kaleidoscopic.

Here where I took and ate, saccharine.

Here she was born.

 

Let me go 

Please stop it. 

 

My veins crepuscule.

Eyes dark 

Lips dark

 

I try to escape

to tear from the cement of her skin

To evanesce lest I be held by her grip.

No room for light

Fractious malady within. 

 

She won’t let me go. 

I am laughter I am music I am lucent. 

She won’t relinquish her hold

reminiscent of when we were one.  

 

The flowers in the garden

resplendent as I sang

opening their ears to drink such melody

stretching their petals

 

Memory alluring but empty

Corporeal found lacking

Sweet

 

So she holds me here.

A piece of warmth in her algid world.

Contempt for my light

But still passion for memory

 

If not to set asunder, 

What then?

I invite her back to me, to my light

Still drowning in darkness 

 

She can’t come back.

Nor can she let me free

This way she remains. 

 

The memory is too pure.

The fruit is too sweet. 

Never leave the garden.

Sweet saccharine.