As days pass, the silence cries more softly
In you; here a bramble, there a pond with small
Dead leaves. As days pass, your reflexion fades.
The prince remarked how special you were
When you bared your soul to him.
And now all it takes to conjure you up
Is to picture the flame in your eyes
Your lacy hand veined with scintillating life.
All it takes to conjure you up
Even when I ache to forget you
Is to imagine a vast river, a river you wished
Never to carry a name, winding slowly;
More like dance than a formless flow
Beneath the hands; the imperious, contriving
Guilty yet shameless hands that the prince concealed
In proud, blood-coloured gloves.
Insomnia returns with that river
Appearing to me, even if only for a moment;
An insomnia impossible to disclose to you
Yet one that has killed me
With more assurance than the attraction
Which covets you in every thought;
A listlessness that presents a confusion
I could not decipher: how before we met
I already knew you.