My Love, My Dark
My Love, My Dark.
I sit, buried in the dark,
Desperate for the love
That warms this poor heart.
The only comfort, a lover's simple words,
That cannot satiate my need for warmth,
As from my sweet lover's touch.
Yet I do feel, a creeping, trembling touch.
Perhaps from a creature of the dark-
Lonely as I, desperate for warmth.
Is this a proclamation of love?
I do not need words.
Only the promise to not steal my heart.
It is not this heart,
That leads me to the touch
Of one who speaks no wooing words.
I cling to this Dark,
For he wants no love-
He prefers only my warmth.
Lost in this beauteous warmth,
I abandon all things of my heart
And spit upon that demon of love.
That demands, through piety, that I deny this touch.
My duty to him is lost in the dark
And I am quick to forget his words.
Who needs such empty words?
Holding no true warmth.
My need is fulfilled by the Dark.
He cares not for my spiritual heart,
But for the fluttering that quickens at a touch.
I give him all, but not my love.