It is not unlike the lit match
That this fire refuses to linger
The catupulted grappling hooks of my heart
Are flung forth in aimless disarray
Arrows fleeing North, East, South, West
In search of the target
In search of the idea.
The scaffolding of
My fabricated cosmic love
Is knocked out by a release of attachment
And in my aching
My mingled release and joy
I self immolate.
Acid reflux in my soul
I burn with a forbidden desire
My eager fingertips resting on its allure
I cannot help but fall into the light behind his shadow.