Flickered and Failing is Your Love’s Flame.

Flickered and Failing is your love’s flame.

Feigning a true lover’s play,
Leaving the marks of your stay,
Telling me it is worth it more
when I crave.
That I am best when I am wanton,
That true love exists in partings,
That I am an over-reacting dreamer.
I dream. I scheme.
An unfettered virgin,
unknowing of life,
of your manly strifes,
Unrealising of a suitable world.
Unable to fulfil my role.

I am a moth to your flame.
Eternal. For sure.
But for now you are a bore.
I am first a woman.
And I choose me.
I choose my creative streaks,
I choose exploring how I feel,
what I see,
where I want to roam and be,
and what I choose to depict of the time of you and me.

I fly and choose a fleetingly forged freedom,
I extinguish your plays.
I am blind to your flame.
But you will never go away.

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