this whole business of longing,
my mind and I disagree,
the theatrics of darkness,
hysterics of a parallel eternity,
the waxy sadness of being,
longing is purgatory
between what was and
what cannot be,
no, never mind its shroud, its soulful rhapsody,
don’t, just don’t
call it love;
here and now,
this moment of belonging,
held close by a word, a glance,
the cold edge of a dagger,
time hanging from a trapeze,
a dewdrop between earth and sun,
measure it if you can,
whisper it if you can,
call it by its name,
it wont mind, call it loudly, free its arms,
call it love.
THOUGHT PURGE 