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sleepwalk : la melancholia
‘I lived for a few weeks while she loved me.’ Bogart, ‘In a Lonely Place’
she’s that dream
that dream you have when you’re not sleeping
she sits in the sweet hold of languor
a moment before she was nude
and wet in her bath
each vision is an artscape
as if painted by Bonnard
she wears a clinging robe
of bamboo silk, perhaps
it embraces her sculpted curves
in a way that I would kill for
I feel the rush in my fingertips
as my hands are upon her
my hands, my hands, upon myself
in the dream she says
if you love me now, you must love me forever
and forever I will
we are made of passion
to exist in perfect madness
for only monsters do not dream
and the fantasy does not die
but goes to the place where
romance and poems are unfinished
‘I’m coming baby I’m coming
I’m sorry I could not wait for you I’m sorry’
she is all apology and heartbreak
and then she is away, away from me
yet I find a melancholy joy
as I am contentedly captured
in a love affair that will never be…
(Artist unknown)
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