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Nocturnes: Misery In Metaphor
January has thawed and given way
to springing fragrances and warmth of May.
Only sharp edges in memory
haunt the places where she used to be.
You see her towered window, late at night,
lit by fornicative candelight:
it flickers like gasped breath, and then grows dim.
Tomorrow she will emerge, clinging to him.
Yes, she has obtained another one,
caught in the silken, sexual web she has spun;
until his soul is shriveled to dessication,
then discarded without least hesitation.
Yet (how can it be?) outside her hungry embrace
is a void apart from common time and space.
January has thawed. In lengthening days,
she weaves, again, the strands of her lethal maze.
Is this about an x wife or
Is this about an x wife or gf?
Thank you for the question
This is about my first real love, whom I dated between July 2, 1976 and January 9, 1978. A year behind me in high school, she decided to enter the college I attended. The relationship began to collapse as she pursued certain other interests behind my back. When she had to be alone "to study," that activity was not what I, or any other reasonable person, would have thought. Ironically, although for the next seventeen years, January 9 was the worst day of the year for me (as I did not get over her until I had met and began dating the woman who became my second, present, wife), on Januar 9, 1994, I became a Baptist Christian and have, since, celebrated that day as the most important in my year.
Seryddwr
Great poem and story
But the truth
But a story