4:14 a.m.

it is dark
yet the birds
have begun
to wake.

No traffic
moves along my street
as the lights
still illuminate
the way.

No voices can be heard
and the dogs
are silent.

The city
is asleep
even if
I
am not.

My heart yearns
for soft
warm palms
on my chest
and the slippery
silk
of her lips.

My mind
scatters
in a thousand directions
preventing me
from formulating
an escape path.

The wound
is fresh
and new
even though
I had been anticipating
the blade
and had been warned
in advance
that the thrust
would be
deep.

I ache
for slumber
and to forget
the love
that was sweet
as honey
so recently
but now
has turned
to vinegar.

I weep
in the face
of my confusion
and disappointment
wishing
desperately
to go back.

But there is no return
to fertile fields
set aflame.

There is no saving
that
which has already perished.

There is no
resurrecting
the dead.

The bliss
is gone,

the hope
has been snuffed out

and I must again face
the dread
of a life
alone.

A life
without
the love
of a woman
that for a moment
I truly believed
would be mine.

The mourning
will pass
and the pain
will fade
but I fear
I will never
recover
from the enchantment
I felt
beneath
her raven's
mane.