Quadrille
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So sweetly, your gentle love wound its way around my heart like delicate passionflower tendrils. O, but soon it transformed into a strangling kudzu vine: clinging, binding, suffocating, and finally withering my almost-beating heart — leaving a silent screaming wound. You and your vicious love.
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It’s Quadrille Monday over aat the dVerse Poets Pub. This week, it’s The Happiness Project! *** They say it comes from within — happiness. Unless the within Is without. Where rainbows are gray music is lonely silence laughter is as unlikely as Chamicuro. Longing is non-existent when within is without love can’t won’t live in
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Memories of you, of us, obscured and steeped in a blur of dusty fog and fuzzy cobwebs. Shadows of a distant past — sometimes half-forgotten — sometimes half-remembered but always just out of reach like missing pieces of a dream that likely belonged to someone else.
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I wasn’t even trying, wasn’t even thinking about it. So far out of the wild blue I almost didn’t recognize It. Serendipitous, yet quick and sly — like a London pickpocket. That sweet kind of suddenness is the best part of falling in love again.
Ergo, the Ogre 