I got tangled up in this relationship
that offers no hope for anything but regrets,
no wedding ring on finger...
it's tucked in my jacket pocket;
woe to me if it ever dropped by accident,
I will lose her trust for the quest of lust!
My lies are uglier than tangled vines
going upward to seek light on a gloomy day;
and the higher they reach,
the more they gnarl themselves
as arms entwined by threads of every color
and mine feel the same so helplessly ensnared by despair.
Why has passion become obsession?
Have I found in her that erotic escape to entice fantasy?
And what the consequences will be?
The loss of someone who had faith in me...
when I swore to love her faithfully through joy and dire!
Entered in Constance La France's contest,
" Tangled Vines "
Written on 7/15/2013