To Lethe
Longing grips me-—
a familiar fire in contact
with parched debris—
spreading...
Your eyes glaze over
and you turn away.
Within moments,
the last of my spirits
have gone to Hades.
Ashamed, I turn over
while tears trickle
into my pillow.
This new fire consumes me—
—it is a thought: I want you—
But surely I am unwanted...
and to Lethe, I escape.
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2021
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