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.
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