falling through ice

You WANT too much, you say from behind an angry mouth, like it’s a sin,
like it would be way too horrible for you to begin
to find the same inside yourself, and meet me
somewhere out here on this ice – ice that’s grown so very thin.

So it sits here within me so hard and tight,
bumping around in there – bruising and hurting –
this pain, this longing, this knife
of passion that cutscutscuts me into tiny little slices
of head thrown back, lips parted.

We could slide right down into each other, just like
Krishna and Rada deep in that dark, warm, garden, diving
through Krishna’s ink blue night
on the stars and planets that swirl up and out of sight
and out into the Universe every time Rada tosses back her long, dark hair…

And now you’re telling me not to go,
because I’m breaking sacred promises
and shouting that you don’t know
how you’re gonna live without me once I’m gone – when I’ve thrown
away what we could have become.

But you had chance after chance to prove your love to me.
And now I know that two persons can be lonelier than one.
I waited for years with hope and then not quite so patiently
for something – anything – that would never come.
You threw us away long ago – fragile ice finally giving in.

So it sits here within me so hard and tight,
bumping around in there – bruising and hurting –
this pain, this longing, this knife
of passion that cutscutscuts me into tiny little slices
of head thrown back, lips parted.

We could have slid right down into each other, just like
Krishna and Rada deep in that dark, warm, garden, diving
through Krishna’s ink blue night
on the stars and planets that swirl up and out of sight
and out into the Bigness every time Rada tosses back her long, dark hair…

I would have explored with you the ancient, sacred mysteries of this mangodwoman art,
because I loved you like I love the moon in her dark,
secret blanket of stars,
Like I love the sun, burning away the chaff to our heart of hearts –
sanguine, heavy and warm.

But you wouldn’t dance with me inside this sweet
holy rain that can fill the heart and soul,
wouldn’t allow that constant simmer on the back burner that melts icy tears
into a warm liquid flow,
wouldn’t trust the Angels to fly us up and out and into the Both, the One, the Whole.

So it sits here within me so hard and tight,
bumping around in there – bruising and hurting –
this pain, this longing, this knife
of passion that cutscutscuts me into tiny little slices
of head thrown back, lips parted.

We could have slid right down into each other, just like
Krishna and Rada deep in that dark, warm, garden, diving
through Krishna’s ink blue night
on the stars and planets that swirl up and out of sight
and out into the Whole every time Rada tosses back her long, dark hair…

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