Soul Mates Mistaken

I catch her fake a moan,
She chills my bones,
It don’t fetch me pleasure,
Few attempts to negotiate,
Bend, mend, exaggerate,
But dark aint cut by scissors,

‘Ah, I love being inside you,’ but I speak.

I sense her drip through my cracks,
She claims to relax and her narrow tense shoulders
Fence her; she’s my rust bitten treasure,
Love grew the sharp diamond beak,
It pricks and hurts and nips and pulls my angle’s feathers,
I watch but I can’t offend or care or ask,
I put a latch so love won’t sneak.
I won’t let her achieve her collapse,

‘I love lying beside you,’ I know I shouldn’t squeak.

But I wish,
Soon the time will pass and break the broken,
Like it broke it in the first place,
The grievance splits and heats the hearts,
Before it blows away;
We can’t leaf off the dark for it has not a visible trace,
Scissors don’t cut the night but it’s cut by light,
At the daybreak,
So light succumbs, the cycle always rotates;

‘But no not now,
This has to stop,
This night shouldn’t last,’
At last I ask,
As I’m beginning to learn,
We aren’t the soul mates,
Only mistaken.

Image Artist: Lovely Solitude

Image by Lovely Solitude @ Deviantart
Image by Lovely Solitude @ Deviantart

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