I very nearly called you last night. A desire to flail you with words possessed me. Perhaps if i poured my anger over you like scalding water on a bed of ashes, You'd rise to life in a cloud of steam I stopped myself. Fearing romantic infection Seeking un-dreamt resurrection Hiding within my own imperfection My anger with you is elusive It slips from my grasp just as it reaches the heat of action. If i could hold it within me for just one more hour, The reflections of rejections and corrections Could burn the scars of scorn - cauterize derision's incisions Implode the black heart of disgust. I confess, my hatred for you is impotent. It is bathed and beaten from me By the blazing beauty Of the image you left Of yourself in me. I love that shining face.
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