To Casanova

The Holy Grail remains no more than contemplation
And I grow weary, selfish and cold
Chasing an incomprehensible object
Crowned in omniscient conspiracy
Rendered immobile and taken apart by
Prurient drives and angelic aspirations

When out of control with need
I succumb to your detached intrusion
When the vision of love ultimate
Grows dim and begins to crumble
Each thrust excites as much as it leaves
The heart more cratered

It’s the poison so sweet to the tongue
This facsimile of a connection
For over and over I catch myself willing to get lost in a smile
Or eyes that hold the bitter cold of a winter’s night
And secrets forever out of my reach
Your distance reigns in my dissolving sense

Willfully lost in a torrid affair for the sake of avoiding
The yearning of another embrace
Play exotic mannequin for a sweet devil
Hollow of a man who likes to make me swallow
Submission to indifference brings stillness
To the ruminating mind and rutting lush

I’m not hollow I’m filled with lots of things
I’m not hollow I’m filled with many things
None of which is love for you
Words that dismantled from within
A stab I did not expect to feel
And an inner smile as inspiration sparked

Sorrow may rip inside but can be quite the muse
And I embrace it, if but to maintain the illusion
Of a minute control over the pain splintering my inner
I want nothing more but to lose myself in the lesson
And laugh at the irony…

 Doe