Anesthesia

Were I to allow myself again to love, 

What then might my heart suffer? 

Wed to numbness by cruel devices, 

It's dagger whispering at my throat, 

Glinting in the cold starlight of my mind, 

Promising to sever me from pain. 

My kiss won’t leave a scar 

Nor will my touch abandon 

Breathed that Spector into my flesh, 

Its venom coating my consciousness, 

A cloying, fetid honey that feigned disabuse, 

Whilst handing me is masque. 

And I, withering behind that porcelain, 

Sequestered from the virtue of hurt, 

Knew only those savorless feelings, 

Unseasoned, uncalloused, and unnurtured,  

That kept my parched lip from asking, 

“Whence cometh love?”  

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