Her love in ink

I don’t want to live – I want to love first, and live incidentally… Don’t – don’t ever think of the things you can’t give me. You’ve trusted me with the dearest heart of all – and it’s so damn much more than anybody else in all the world has ever had.” – Zelda Sayre to F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Enveloped by the night and cradled
by its stars, I dream of you.
You, the dear heart who, like this sky
to my spirit, calms me.

The cool darkness pacifies; that silken
cloak your conspirator – dulling the
incessant ache elicited by the want
of you.

In living apart this assailant of
yours unveils the triviality of all but
you, my darling. Love before all, life
a mere consequence; afterthought.

Your heart, bestowed upon me, ensures
my utter disapproval of all but that
vessel of tenderness; the core of me,
Scott – my deliverance.

So come back to me, please. Let darkness
retreat in your wake and revive
me from this hollow void. The clouds hang
low; my tears lost in the lamenting rain.

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