The Man Who Hated Embraces

Like a spring shower,
anticipated,
dense with desire,
she entwines herself
around his back.
 
Burnt by Holy Water,
with no coins
to waste for charity,
penitence, or grace,
he pushes her away,
disturbed, awake, solid.
A church, a cenotaph.
The Law of Moses.
 
He is in mourning.
For the loss of himself
to another.
This grief is
insurmountable.
Time is of
no consequence.
It shall not pass.
 
Her fingers,
dainty daggers,
continue to neatly rip
his shelter to shreds.
Searching for the bones,
the liver, the heart,
the biological essence
of his immovability.
The pineal gland.
The Princess
and the Pea.
 
She understands.
Union is impossible.
This pain is
insurmountable.
It shall not pass.
 
His grief
and her pain
are now
in a dance.
 
The music is
indeterminable.
It could be a tango,
a waltz,
or a Mass.
 
And, in a heartbeat,
all shall pass.
 
© Milana Vujkov, The Man Who Hated Embraces, 2012

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