The Goddess and The Poetaster

The subtle sweetness of your voice is my current drug choice, and it ebbs and flows against all of my better judgements. Sitting poised with the phone, I grow agitated with the sound of my own breath, it’s drowning you out and I don’t want to miss a single moment we spend in our own personal timeline.

You really are a walking overdose my darling, a lover in the night who is too fragile to touch yet too alluring to run from. I’m prepping myself for a loss, almost crystallising small bursts of feeling, so I can mourn your attention when it inevitably wanes and floats off along with my dissipating sanity.

There’s something so remarkably soothing about the spaces between your words, the small pauses of content reflection and the silent smiles I can sense beneath the undertows of conversation. With eyes closed, I plunge into your warmth that radiates so generously from much too many miles away.

I’ve been driven to a point beyond the horizon, staring back at a starting block I no longer recognise while the night ahead looms dark and lonely. Living in a fantasy can only ever serve one purpose, and the fear of being dropped and discarded into the black is a feeling that’s too overwhelming to stomach.

But still...my love...there you are in all of your tragic glory. Emanating a promise that all could be well with the world should one only believe in divine and fated love. What a horrible shame it is then, that our lives could never entangle themselves in the same way in which I’m tangled up in the idea of being your ‘one’.