At the oddest moments-times of
Fierce intimacy.
You're absolving my empty feat:
"I shall not love."
You're imputing my endless breach
In a furtive vein;
Draining your sad patience
Into my virtuous lies;
You're framing my semblance of self
Replete with the worst of wrongs, within
A love bearing quietude. Not that
We had no bonds of love or
Lust;
But the time decayed my venoms,
Now, all seems withering
In my interred longing.

T. Byram Karasu, MD is the author of Rags of My Soul

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Tags: bonds, breach, byram, happiness, intimacy, mystery, patience, rags, semblance, t byram karasu, venoms