If it happened, you’re dead
One might say I loved you
Love is absolute, as is death
And neither bears false witness against the other
But you remain alive
No, I don’t love you
I hate the word
That private tyranny within a public sound
Your freedom is yours and not mine
But keep my madness separate like a sword
And plunge it into your body all night long
If death stripped our bones of everything but bones
Then here comes the flesh, the flesh that is sweet as the drunkard
Like goblets of wine in the deceptive moonlight
Reach out and turn off the moonlight
And perhaps it never was at all
So never promise me anything
But walk through the darkness hand in hand
Reach for the distance of tonight
And touch once more the moving moment
Before you fall asleep

If you’re tired of the Weekly Poetry, just let me know.