In Regret, I Yet Adore

22 Jan


What stain of your once virgin youth
has left to this bartered compliance,
that my hands dare not fragile mend
these creases of your now aged flesh;
and of what immortal interpretation
be your gibes and fancy in abandon,
that with reverence, I now worship,
and with disdain, you cast vain aside;
shall I not be wanton of your breath,
the silken repose of all enchantment,
but by your leave, I am also cast away,
tarnished, yet reimbursed for my wear;
yet I can well state with absolute truth,
the full spectrum of our brief encounter,
that, of you, would I ne’ermore breathe,
but for that single breath taken in exile,
when you were, then, immortal desire,
tho’ mindful now, in regret, I yet adore.

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Posted by on January 22, 2016 in My Poetry



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