Colette



A burning, sliding slick like the act itself
Not for anything in me but presence.
Hate and anger melt and fuse,
Grate harshly, oh so silently on stupid love.
How could I think it so ?
I am betrayed (out of protection),
Abandoned (for whose benefit),
A caring or a callous discard ?
It grates and grinds on the bone, (good pun),
I hate her in my heart yet hope is blind ?
I may love her only with the tendrils of my mind.




Copyright 2001 Adam Lyons

 

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