She emerges from her house—like a wolf out of her den;
her green eyes mocking the moon.
Cradling her liquor like a still-born child,
she stretches forth one dead hand and tells me to
”drink this then make love to me.”
I do it cause what else is there?
I loved her once upon a time—
adored everything she breathed;
that seems like a thousand years ago on this night.
She told me to read Koestler—reciting,
Nothing is more sad than the death
of an Illusion.
She quoted Eliot:
To lose beauty in terror,
Terror in inquisition.
I put my hand over her mouth
and scooped up her fair frame with the other;
*laying her down in the patch of a clearing—
she wept but her soul was willing.*
And when we lay exhausted, backs to the earth,
spirits to the heavens,
she turned to me and said—
It'll be the restless hearts that never mend.
s./j. goldner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/divergent-kingdom-come/
