Her eyes are spades
Harvesting, fractures of obsidian
They bury deeper
What they cannot find
And taste whatever they can.
Of what use could a soul be?
Fingers like worms inundating,
A flood of untapped
And untethered insight.
A swamp of infinitesimal desires
Notices, delays, cumbersome meetings
And then without warning, loss.
A miasma, this love that cannot be.
A miasma, this rage that does not cease.
I will not surrender to the flesh
To defenseless musings, to engulfment
Of what use could a heart be?
Didn’t end up with a ballad in the end though I did read the description and I did have my rhyming dictionary ready to go. This is a work of fiction. The contradictory vocabulary in the poem “a swamp of infinitesimal desires” is to indicate the denial and resistance of the male character even though he has already been caught. To indicate how all these seemingly small, seemingly innocuous things are building and building into something ultimately inescapable.