False Dawn

My heart bled for dawn, a lamentable loss Subsequent to a meticulous wanting and yearning to be anything but alone. For years I slept a fitful slumber Hoping, waiting and awaking only for dawn. Her reddish tinge overwhelmed me, and reached for me with a hot touch which left me cold inside. But still I hoped. She Rose, with desire divided. A trick of the light as she teased me with night and day. Unadorned she reprised her role with wild abandon But who can fault her, her wanton ways? Again, and again. Her tender touch, offers only irrefutable distrust, If only she would desist her smiling, shining surface, I would not be forced to look up at her in disgust Her very presence penetrates my core, oblivious she plunges deeply, Not knowing when to stop. Rebecca .a. Huxley