reimagining Jane Austen’s persuasion.

It was not the brush of your hand against mine

Or the peck of your tender lips on my neck.

It was as I recall vividly,

the kiss of your soul planted on mine

Which pierced me.

It was your sad eyes,

when they met mine

It pierced me and asked me

If there was ever a slight hope for us

We were half agony and half hope

But how could I kiss you back

And tell you that

When I love you, I hate you.

I was bound by human love.

Daily I woke up with the manacles around me

And daily I retreated with it into my dreams

How could I let you breathe under my grey sky

when you saw me in a spectrum 

Of divine love.

In my mind it was a thousand times yes

But all I could do was stare. 


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