She Comes

It’s not always like this, these times when she goes, these times when she slips away briefly, into her other-world, these times when I do not see her beauty in the rose, these times when she goes, away, . . . . it’s not always like this. Sometimes, she creeps back inside me unobserved when I’m feeling unprepared, undeserved, when I see the sparkle of her eyes in starlight, when I see her dark complexion in a moonless night, when I see her lovely locks draped over windswept hollyhocks, . . . . sometimes, it’s like this. Always it’s like this, when my heart beats faster with aching and yearning, when I shudder with impending disaster, when it all comes together faster and faster, when I sink, when I drown, spiralling down into her maelstrom, . . . . always, it’s like this, She comes.