My love for her,
was a natural,
God given state,
sent from the clouds that surrounded sunrises,
that we’d often watch,
our fingers finding each other,
in the camouflage of gentle grass,
meeting in the muted mellow moments of quiet,
when nobody could catch us,
capturing each other in a kiss.
She was bliss.
With her in my arms,
and on my mind,
the questions of my quest for fulfilment,
were finally forgotten,
and I could exist,
not divided,
divine and decidedly at peace,
knowing that I was born,
to kiss her,
full on the lips,
as a lover.
I tell you of her,
not out of joy,
dear reader,
or for the heartbreak of denying you,
(and me) a happy ending.
She is gone.
I have spent six months,
moping in the meadow,
swearing at the sunrise,
for not bringing her back when it visits.
Pouring through page after page,
of this book she recommended.
Of course,
it ended.
Whether we die,
or simply drift apart,
the gays shall always be buried.
I read The Well Of Loneliness,
to see if I could find a way,
to win back her heart,
but,
all I have is nonsensical notes,
and tear stained cheeks.
I suppose,
I’ll sail this ship alone.
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