This free spirit of mine flew into a hurricane of you.
And I did not recognise my insides anymore.
Its gales redid me and undid me.
Hard metal winds, as magnetic forces.
Pulling my mind asunder by whim.
A state of wisdom ill-equipped for blindness.
The women I could have been.
Digesting your passion.
My heart losing its independent beat.
Softness of the core revealed to the elements.
Resurrected from the land of the dead.
A special word there is for this hypnosis.
Rationally, there is nothing you were that was true.
Except the force driving the catastrophe in your eyes.
So the power you served was real.
© Milana Vujkov, Birdsong, 2020