Free Verse

Pulling back from the dyad that never really existed
I reacquaint myself with the blanket of loneliness.

She was the flower that blooms on the desert of my imagination
She was the stiff drink that made me forget myself.
She was the ghost formed in the smoke of lust.

When I cross over into the next world
And this one ceases to occur
The image I want to take with me
is the image of her.

Must familiarity make mundane
the exotic and rare?
And a din and noise
of a supplicant's prayer?
May the gods of fate
take the bait
of my request
And at my behest
grant me the rarest of commodities......Time.
But not Time only
but another chance too.
And a dance in the moonlight with you.