this lifelong lust

any inbetween,
I'll take it,
if it will help me
make it
til sunrise,
til I see Your eyes,
the way:
sending all those
voracious coyotes,
and cougars,
blending the good
with the bad
and the happy with
the sad,
and making every
moment that we have had
seem sacred,
and naked;
oh lover of mine
You bend back my spine
and render me sublime,
and I take it,
I could not fake it,
could not break it,
even if I was to fall
out of rhythm
and rhyme,
out of continuity
or time,
I could not shake it,
I would not make it,
if it wasn't for You;
porcelain dreams,
and plasticine porters
always diverge,
and leave us a bit shorter,
on the verge,
as we struggle to divine
what is yours, ours, and
in time, everyone's,
the whole of all of us,
the swallowed-up of us,
the giant must-have-of-us,
the present day version
of Galápagos;
and so our self-torment ends,
when we toss our heads back,
and make amends,
for the foole in us,
for the things we do not discuss,
for the ways that we distrust
all that is inside of us,
all that we must,
and decide,
which is part of us,
merely a bit
of a much larger thing,
or every ounce of
this lifelong lust.

March 28, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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