Buridan
When you’re falling
Into her being,
Ever accelerating.
With every smile,
And look and touch.
Even how subtle.
Even how small.
You see yourself
Frowning upon the sun.
— Hurrying to hide
Under the shade
Of the evening moon.
For you see yourself
Falling with frail bones.
With frail bones
Of vanity and lies.
Of worthless weight.
And heavy souls.
And you try to shun
Images of her from your mind.
And you somehow succeed.
Only to see yourself;
Falling not for her images.
But simply for her.
Falling.
Without drag.
Into the infinity of her soul.
Into the pain of her memories.
Even how subtle.
Even how small.
And so, you realize.
The inevitability of gravity.
Once you’ve started to fall.
Into subdued semblances of her.
In everything that you see.
In everywhere.
For everytime.
But then, this is your fault.
You are the hand that pushed
Yourself to the edge of reason;
Into her sweet intoxications.
Of sweet smiles and gentle breaths.
Of comforting bosoms and lovely lips.
Perhaps you could’ve been better?
Rescued by her.
But she doesn’t care.
So now, you could’ve been better
Either way.
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