The Lovers II, 1928 by Rene Magritte
I yearn to be ...irrevocably unveiled,
the dripping devotion
curling between the yin and yang
of your stoic sanctuary ~
the asylum of your ache,
the devoted rose damsel
burning to bathe
in drizzling thistles and petals
of your pulsing petrichor,
soaked in russet and rouge
of irresistible silence,
still tracing lifelines between
spaces of laser-blue sparks,
carrying the cadence
of creatures consumed in confusion,
unable to contain
the colors of love’s trust,
oblivious to the lips
pigmented with pixels
of passionate patience.
O soul-flame, seraphic sanctum
of strawberry moon-rain,
must I allow the stars to seize
our kismet in blushing blaze?
What if the darkness beholds
what we breathe beyond our
armored attachment,
that elevates the
mystery of muted magnetism?
Would you still engulf my spirit
with emerald embers of empathy,
or would I be left lingering
in the electric aftermath
of a kaleidoscopic kiss ~
reweaving and reminiscing
the restless runes
rehearsed through the nights
when sleep abandoned these words
like an illusive touch
that never felt my need to belong
in a place where
our heartbeats danced to the
same endless echo,
resembling the rhythm
of Psyche’s pining sigh
and Cupid’s nomadic arrow ~
caged in craving,
misplaced in desperate devotion…
I will relentlessly remain
as your unapologetic heat ~
the merciful mirror to your
mellifluous manifestation,
for you and I,
we are ardent lovers
embracing the unseen and unspoken,
cocooned catastrophically ~
amidst the distance
between my sky and your gaze,
while fading within your
eccentric catharsis… forevermore…
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