Sunday, June 16, 2013

THE LOVE GAME

The lovers twined
Their arms around each
Other, touching their
Foreheads, bodies
Interlinked laterally
Inescapably lodged
Irrevocably singular.

He congeals her being
In the gelatinous limpidity
Of his aegis and her I' is
Discerned by his loving eye.
Yet she isn't separate, nor
Is she a part but simply an
Impersonal image in the mirror.

The lovers kiss
Flanks interposed
By empty stretches
Of air, breathed in,
Breathed out, caught
And held, expelled and let go
While their lips meet.

She has made him her
Gratuitous fate has embalmed
The architectonics of his self
And made him an expedience
She'd like to shake off yet
Is in actuality unable to
Can she be she and he him?

The lovers are commingled
And their syncopated heartbeats
Strum to the carillons
Of feeling unspoken yet avowed
He traces her soul like a explorer
Going through a map as her intersecting lines
Coil within to absorb his touch.

Though she proffers herself
She consumes him as communion
And seeks to reify their togetherness
To ratify the fact that mirrored
In him, she glimpses a reflection
Hers yet not hers. Hers as an object
Caught in his ontology.

He, content to scuff the turf
Placidly navigates the labyrinth
Seeing through her, in her
What he would like to be seen as.
Suspending self doubt, he proliferates
Clogging the interstices of self
And other by vainglory and deception.

Both seek to absorb a modicum
Of what they are, by reflecting
Ricocheting the undisturbed surfaces
Of themselves, afraid of self disclosure
Yet thrilled by self revelation. They veer
Between the fear of knowledge and desire for truth
They want to smash the mirror.

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