he walked, sharp City suited
dazed and feeling sick
he needed to puke

that day he should have energy
but instead was in a trance
in shocked surveillance
of the shattered battlefield
of his emotions

trying to savour the elemental feelings
of radiance and darkness
gain and loss
trying to understand his transformation
over two fleeting weeks

the palpitations seemed as if they
would break his ribs

was he in the permanent state
of deep breath before the plunge?
a pulsating heartbeat
as before the first kiss?
or no?

it was more the choking of the throat
as when suspended from the gallows
and the pumping chest
before the firing squad

* * *

he had settled in comfortable
emotional greyness
the fire of love
doused and hidden
like a hibernating black tick
ugly, despised
irrational, primative
treacherous . . .

yet still it lived
waiting for blood
ready to gorge
and the blood came
unexpected
red
unleashed

and all that he feared now sat inside
awake, alive
agonising

as a cinder under an eyelid

it had purity and rawness
such a primordial passion

he felt so sentient
as if confronting death

more so, than le petit mort of lovers
it was not breathlessness for a moment
but for all waking hours

wherefrom would come the release?
a word? a smile? a touch? or time?

or does he stare into the abyss
waiting for the fall
the deliverance
the darkness
that will never come

in sober light of day
in the very pit of his being
the desperate ache went on

he cursed his madness
and the random salty wetness on cheek
was ashamed for his weakness
but yet
he basked in the wretchedness
of powerful emotions
long forgotten

moments of primal surrender
that felt so good

as for her?
her heels clicked confidently on flagstones
and never noticed that upon the marble
on which they walked
were fragile eggshells of love

and in him
there was no blaze of sunset
but the choking grey
of a cold miasmal mist