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Ancient

You speak to me of mysteries
about an ancient lingual art

Mysteries I long to weave
From the blood threads of my heart

We could be friends or We could be lovers
If not for this series of narrow misses,

broad ideas, other lovers,
fear of change and imagined kisses.

And even though we've never met
I feel your touch across the years,

My long dead soul mate in my arms
despite the distance and blood-tinged tears.

You and I are myth-makers
Forming our tale of painful pasts

Creating a love, a story,
An eternal poem that never lasts.

Without consent I've become
the central character of your tragedy

Afraid of finding my tragic flaw
and destroying you for the good of me.

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