sleeping dogs
And mostly you turned from me
because the threads of my heart
spun incessantly a web of purity
a longing for unity whose delicate silk
pulled at you constantly up and up
drawing You from you like ghee from milk.
Your heart bled from your head
and your words spilt without consent
the love your waking mind was hell bent
to undermine.
Your criticism became a weapon
to hold yourself captive from connection
holding my beauty at bay with the deception
of separation.
Time and time I reached for you
yet my offer seemed to you a theft,
sleeping dogs that wished to be left
to lie.
Even my poetry became a bore to you
the way it lifted you from your malaise
up and up from your comfy resting place
upon which slumber's hold on you
eventually stole from you
all these precious days and nights
through which I would have loved you
into wondrous heights.
