Inoculation

You inoculated love into my heart;
inoculated me with love against the hate of the world.


You crafted me, broke me, and recreated me with clandestine deceit
of love that you weaved through my seams and alleged that with you I was replete,
but at midnight's hour I seem to see the deep, frothing, effervescent sea
that rolls and tumbles with pulses into me where a light did shine from eyes of thine
that cast the light and reflect the flecks of a luster from where your soul sways glimmeringly;
in that witching hour the macabre and billowy clouds to me appear no more to be
a prophecy of the apocalypse that will eclipse the love radiating between both you and me,
but rather a moment frozen in the past of our lives that we once shared but no longer is alive.


Recreational insouciance delivers a mixed fragrance of perfume and love-sweat
in a magically mystical and mysterious way of delirious play that sneaks carefully
round the unenchantingly and inconspicuously austere manner of a dreadfully disturbed runaway,
searching desperately for a niche in which to hide away and swing or sway so richly in
with nothing and no one to come sit in and break the silence that gently lays in peace
upon the soul shattered in glass shards across galaxies and canvas sheets of sanctity
that seem to cease no more than that they seem to crease when thinly taut throughout their seams,
so stifling me with emotionally equable ebullience recognizant of the veracity of my heart’s ineffability.


So insidious was your love into my innocence that the consequence was subtle invidiousness
leading to assiduous art – the outfall of my heart, but degeneracy is conspicuous by your absence
in the part that thwarts a fresh restart from fear of failure lest it once again should fall apart
like a waterfall split by a jutting precipice dimidiating hate with love so starkly amiss,
and into the abyss goes all corroboration of your guilt with causing my arrant aberration –
in which I cling to chasms in between our hearts wherein this foolish fantast is quickly falling far –
from any semblance of reality to an imaginative illusion said by all but very few to simply be a dire delusion,
but I feel and fall with an unfeigned contusion deep in my chest from your emanative elusion.


Magnanimously you gave yourself to me in fullest raptures that did my sorrows so surcease
in such a form to cause release of truer sorrows when in departure my soul you did deplete,
but in daylight’s hour I seem to see the steep, grueling, incandescent grief
that ebbs and flows like a midnight’s summer dream where for love I pine from eyes of thine
that cast the love and inspect the specks of a luster from where my soul sways sorrowfully;
in this current hour the macabre and billowy shrouds in me appear no more to be
a memory of the melancholic turn to tonic love radiating from within you into me,
but rather a moment burning in the past of my life where once I stood to live alive,
for now I live to lay the love I lost to dust – and lust to die.


You inoculated hate into my heart;
inoculated me with hate against the love of your world.