Did
I say ecstasy?
That drawing
near, you fill me with ecstasy?
And
that no one hears your step, but me?
Yes...
it is true... all true; and it is fire
But
the telling of it comes only later
Forty
lines, later,
As
in the hour of struggle the birth of a butterfly
That
came first... like the fire...
Then
you walked in, you stepped inside me:
You
had known me.
I
look for those who hear you, as I do
I
long for them I yearn for them, to hug them
But
there are none, just as you told me
And
they hate me... though they’d never own it
Wanting
the rapture, too, but without the dying.
Shunning
offence they each one miss the ecstatic stigma.
*
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