"And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question..."
- T.S. Eliot
It's Springtime now,
Or near enough --
And cherry blossoms are falling at your feet,
She is engulfing you in her cherries sweet,
She is keeping watch for the hatching hour.
You waited for her
long, those cold years cracked dawn
and you felt the early stirring
of the crocus, yearning
And here it is:
The moment has come
for that fateful stroll, the one where
questions that matter will be asked,
Revelations will be addressed.
Do you burn when she says the words?
I think not.
For I am Sun-set,
latent fire crackling, stirring --
a different yearning.
I am the burning bush of your desire
flaming up with my own incandescence
bidding you come and singe your wings,
The soul-scorched Siren
singing things I can never mean.