Not wicked,

    never say wicked, do not say so

                          for how could any yearn so sweet, so lovely and loving, admiring, kind, how could any love be so? not wicked, love, say not so, not wrong, not bad, not evil, not a sin, not unforgivable

                                   just unfortunate

           winner takes it all, and the other is left on a greek hill in the ocean high up with scarf whipping

                                                                                                                          the wind stinging

                                            

                but she's beautiful, isn't she? Up there swaying to the sound of gales, singing to the elements, alone, aging into her face

                                               a life out of dark into wind and light and sun and bright

 

                                       is this the love you are destined to ask of me, the lost muse on the high hill

                                 singing a sad song of aloneness, not as torn despair, as being cut half in a twoship

 

you don't and didn't advance pursuits, would not either not ever unless told to, 

              unless she called out to you, from the dirt, and you smelled the fresh air after all those years            caged up

 

if there is always more to know of musing then i must tell you, that from the first moment

     when you whispered your name so sweetly, it was an avalanche for me, seen, heard, smelled, felt

                that very moment, drawn, compelled to swing around a corner smiling in blinding desert sunshine

                                                   never ever been that warm and right in the inner lining of my bones before

 

in one moments happenstance

                   when for me it takes years and years and years

                                                                                                      it does not dissapate even from the sea