I am trapped in the hands
of love, of its insipid murmurs
to the wildflower bouquets,
unable to enter her heart.

Bereaving of the death
of love, embraced by the cold
winters of the absence,
to beg and to have failed.

I am refused on the gates
of love, of its sweet-scented
warmth offered to many,
freed out my hands.

Swallow me in the depths
of love, purging the soul
out of my flesh and bones,
to die in her pulsating fires.

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash
© 2018 Onie Maniego and The Paper Drafts

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2 thoughts on “Depths of Love

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