Lost Lovers

January 26, 2011
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Two souls,
Run to the warmth
Of each others arms.
He kisses her with the passion
Meant for someone else.
She runs her hand through his hair
Wishing it was the hair
That reminded her of Moroccan sands,
Instead of black charcoal.
He brushes the back of his hand
Against her porcelain skin,
Longing for her freckled, red cheeks.
She looks in his eyes,
Craving a glitter only present
In another’s eyes.
These eyes are glazed over from pain.
An inhuman quality
That makes her skin crawl.
The man feels her crumple in his arms,
Waving the white flag,
Of a war that had
Never begun.

She loses herself in music,
Playing so loudly within her.
A swarm of sonatas teaming
Wildly in her unscathed brain.
She chooses a true work of art
Most appropriate for staring
At a ghoulish man
In twilights undying glow.
Moonlight Sonata.
The fluid notes carry her numbly,
Far away from her physical presence.
She sail to the moon,
Leaping from each streaming measure
Of the sonata pouring from her heart
She draws painfully nearer and nearer.
Feeling the moon’s glow
Stain her child-like face.
She feebly reaches,
Grasping at expanse.
She reaches again,
This time with joy inflating
In her chest, and a purpose
In her heart.
Her fingertips lightly graze
The moons grainy surface.
She beings to fall,
The moon’s light escaping rapidly
From her hungry eyes.
She tumbles into her physical presence
Once more,
Misty eyed,
With the moon’s light eclipsed.
And a sonata forgotten.

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