found this last night

Saying Goodbye, October, 1989.


My prayer is answered. He shyly sits near.
But old battles rear their hostile heads inside.
She never speaks, only looks. He never looks, only speaks.
It is time to share their lives, their pain.
That cross so heavy and scored with knife wounds.
So she wills him to speak to her, and she looks
He looks to another, willing her to speak.
And turns his back on her fatal silences.
This little love flower gently starts to die.
For who can stand repeated rejection?
Now she sits stonily in a pub,
Ignoring the happy chatter, the lights on their heads.
She loves him. Sadly she paces into the dark; alone as ever.

She watches the laugh dying in his eyes.
'I didn't want you anyway', they both mutter blankly.
O God, shall I never feel him thrilling into me,
Hissing sparks in my ear? What of him?
Does he dream on my breasts milkwhite, tipped with golds?
Does he think on my sex, the wet warm inviting?
So they stalk from humour to sorrow;
Bleak the axe falling on this strange little flower of love.


He is beautiful, heart insists, overflowing with strife.
Look on his good hands, his eyes; sea-green!
And soul pauses in her eternal march.
We look on this stranger; a lonely loving man.
Do they not all pray for love all their days?
'Come to me, my heart whisphers, be accepted.
I'll accept you and all you loved, nothing less
Just exactly as you are. Eternity in us; we meet.
Only say, poor souls, that you do feel love; and it is yours.
Shall you love them; all of them? he asks invisibly,
Yes I say sweetly, all who loved you be commended.
All love is a servant of love; my love
Which swifter than lightning flies past our thirsty lips.
Only touch, he cries, his eyes shocking in joy.
Only ask, she asks, eyes sad and pitying.
They closer cannot come, they shall never
Hang together in the electicity of sex.
She didn't ask. He didn't touch.
Goodbye, little flower, goodbye.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxx