when yearning turned into ache,
i died a little that night.
music died, the harvest moon did nothing,
words died, the breezes did nothing,
the earth did not open up
to swallow my pride.
the willow stopped weeping
and turned its silver tipped leaves
into whips, stripped my skin,
salt from the seas singed
of what remained.
i'm back at your doorstep,
still thirsting for you.
your clones in flesh and bone,
may distract me for a while,
and i can hear you laugh
when i bleed,
and that laugh is my strength,
and i am ready to play the clown
who has fallen in love again.
