My heart is a shipwreck wasting,
Held in dimensions too deep to dwell.
The meniscus of your shadow
Tethers me to habitually stormy seas.
The crunch of bone and my organs flattened,
There is no escaping the ghost
Of what we were and could never be.
The pitcher stands just as it did
Before in the center of the table
But the sunflowers have all been slain.
What parallel is this that
I should die for want of love
When once I had so much to give?
There is no method to my delirium
No apology which has not been spoken,
No words that could alter these heroic constellations
For all that was is spent and there is
No knowing now to whom or what I speak.
Love is so delicious, it spoils you.
When it exists there is no time
No before or after, only a door
Held ajar and a terrible curiosity
For what dwells within.
I have searched your darkest reaches,
Those rooms like extinguished fireplaces
In which your phoenixes gathered but ceased to rise.
I attempted the paradelle many times but was unsuccessful and unsatisfied with the results. I don’t like the repetitiveness of the form and while the puzzle part intrigues me it had the effect of strangling my muse. Instead I used all the other cues and inspirations provided in the prompt. It was hard to switch gears and even though I stopped writing with forms I still felt the same constrictive energies at work.