Pieces of Me, The Heart of Him

Benches

He loved her passionately –
thought her to be a goddess
that could dazzle oceans
and walk on water.

He read her as pure poetry,
adored the sound of her laugh
and the earnest in her eyes.

The flush of her skin
as she breathed the tonic air –
it satiated him,
surrounded him,
as the moon is by
millions of exploding stars.

No, darling, she was no
commonplace thing –
he knew the universe
must have fallen in love
with her, for how radiant
her lips look stained
by the sun.

He loved another despite
her futile anguish
and fall from grace.

She was beautifully cruel,
and even with an outstretched hand,
she remained haunted,
made of unhinged steam
and a love that drowned him.

And so he suffocated –
over and over,
her tired and cracked soul
had long forgotten
how to be one with love –
rather she slept with
psychotic love and
manic memories;
such senseless emptiness she had.

But he refused to give up on her,
and he refused to give the other up.

What an unfortunate creature he was,
and what a fortunate creature I must be,
to have a love that is maddening –
someone that worships both sides of me.

– Samantha Prasad

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