Saturday, February 09, 2008

untold myths and legends

She was unaware. She could not know the power she had then. How could she? How could she with that laughter? How could she with her flushed cheeks and tenderness? She could not know. I would never have had the arrogance to tell her.

You were beautiful. How could you have known that in that instant, I was captivated, enamored, shipwrecked on the rocks guarding your siren soul, twin to nymphs and wind faeries?

It was because of that brief meeting of our eyes that life has gone on without merit. Seconds to hours. And yes, these hours will turn into years. What I would give to see her again. Even if at the side of another. Even if to see her smile in the arms of another. She has stolen my dignity and my days have been spent pining with passion for a look, for even just a second glance of love that she spun so easily into her lore.

love...never gets old...losing it doesn't either. dwelling on Stephen Crane

[Ah, God, the way your little finger moved]
Stephen Crane

Ah, God, the way your little finger moved
As you thrust a bare arm backward
And made play with your hair
And a comb a silly gilt comb
Ah, God—that I should suffer
Because of the way a little finger moved.


I heard thee laugh
Stephen Crane

I heard thee laugh

And in this merriment
I defined the measure of my pain;
I knew that I was alone,
Alone with love,
Poor shivering love,
And he, little sprite,
Came to watch with me,
And at midnight
We were like two creatures by a dead camp-fire.