That golden era
when the sun, at its peak
watched over us, benevolence
cascading on our flesh
as we busied ourselves
with creating our own demise.
She opened the door that day
for me to lead you away from her
into private sorrowful passion
addicted to our own hubris
our reflection together
enough to overcome
the injustice for those
we were keeping in the dark.
My folly was thinking i could arrange spontaneity.
Me, waiting for moments
stolen when we could continue
what should have only been for a moment.
Our first time laughter at seeing the face of God
in a taboo
I knew the Jesus followers had it wrong
when they dropped joy and desire
and surrendered their life force
to colouring in between the lines.
If only i could bottle that first ecstatic moment.
Instead i stood outside myself
watching only flesh on flesh
attempt to penetrate the mystery of eternal longing
for something greater than us
until dissipation of life force
had me holding the rosary
head down like a shameful lover of God
in a sexless church.
Now that enough moons have lit the night sky
and we can face each other
for once, unencumbered
by the ruin we unleashed
on all that we had created
without each other,
I hold that uncertain time as magic,
still tinged with a divine spark
for attempting like a modern day Icarus
to reach for the unattainable
through each other.