There is a sacred, secret line in loving which attraction and even passion cannot cross.
The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.
This Cruel Age has deflected me.
My shadow serves as the friend I crave
You do not know just what you've been forgiven.
I go forth to seek To seek and claim the lovely magic garden Where grasses softly sigh and Muses speak.