Between Thirst and Slake

There’s no good thing to say to you. I love you and that drives me crazy. I love you because you deserve it, but maybe not from me.

Because you love tempting tides to change with your lifeblood effigy,
you love so deeply, it aches like a cavity, a gaping hole of harrowing,
harbored, heartache.

You take the gravity of the situation to the corners of Broke and Break, torn between thirst and slake when you could drink the lake of the love I feel.

But you make melancholy less malady, more maelstrom,
Melt at malapropisms and defy marginalization,
except when it suits you.

You shook the walls of Jericho with a meek plea,
break every porcelain particle at the heart of me,
seized serendipity by the horns and shook it off,
you want for love, but for mine you scoff.

Doff a cap and raise a drink and
mourn remembrance laid to rest,
for she has space for all distaste,
except upon my hollow chest.

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