Bliss. A poem.

Today, she gave me bliss.
I was confounded but content,
my feet mired in tar, holding me firm.
My mouth unfrozen this time,
heart quickened but not expired.

Conversation played across a court;
a sporting event, a contest of champions.
I would send the ball, she would receive
returning service like a tennis pro.
So perfectly matched,
like two people moulded
from the same supple clay
of our sculptor’s eloquent fancy.

How can such beauty be real?
Does it only exist to haunt
my dreaming and waking hours?
I wanted to profess to her ghost
my wants and needs,
how I missed these opportunities,
these games of hope and fear.

No matter how much I deny,
she is the apple to which I aspire
Heaven’s gate and Eden,
all as one, combined.

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