Passion

Everything is rushing toward some grand conclusion.
Some grand delusion.
Some lost illusion.

We are tumbling through a murky stratosphere.

We used to dance so precisely, but we have since forgotten the steps.

Our laughter is less cynical now, but carries more guilt.
Less pain, but more understanding.
It makes the joke less funny, because now we see the truth in it.

We are not yet old,
but by all the gods in all their naked glory,
we are no longer young.

Our innocence was not lost.
We know exactly where we left it.
We simply cannot have it back again.

We threw our dreams into the fire so we could keep warm.
Then we sang songs, and you twirled.
Lifting your skirt above your knees,
and laughed.

We woke up.
Hungover.
Sun burnt
and jumped into the lake once last time.

We looked at each other.
We toasted the bride and groom.
We kissed for everyone to see.

That night you pressed your cheek to mine, and said
goodbye.

I was glad you were crying, so that
I could feel tears too.

We tiptoe toward our graves now.
Still falling in that murky stratosphere.
A dual existence of
sun
and
moon.

The constant
eclipse.

You wretched ghost.
You gleaming monster.

You dark salvation.

We lied so eloquently through our smiles.
We transcended so gracefully our silence.

We lived a brief summer in Narnia
Oz
and Wonderland

Only to find

Home again.

In that murky stratosphere.