Myth Of Kisses (First 2 Pages) Poem by Ian Kellett

Somewhere under your skin
Is who you took for a lover,
But no longer does it,
Wandering altered and grieved.
Rattling and wrawling in corners
And occasionally casting a hook
At you in the hope of a bite or
A wheel rim at least to roll on
With. Scrub footed where once
Fleet feet swept and circling
Inside your spires until crossed
With a path your reserves have
Staffed in case of resurgence;
Tumbling longer and hunched
As all for one withered and each
To their own chose another.
But try as you might you can’t
Hold her once cornered against
Steeple doors, even though you
Implore her to leave your arena
For a more condign site as the
One she is traveling can’t take
The aching, for she evades in that
Same stickled way that grated you
First and delivered good riddance.
Gone once again on beyond the
Domain you control with a thistle
Topped fire iron rod to the stretches
Of slag scum long shoveled away
From the blaze of your love.
And edges that live at the end
Of your mind are scraped by
The same every day as, unable
To access the extremes you
Once could, she dwells their
Heavily with knowledge of
Weakness and will. So on days
When the nights have dissolved
As they should you send forward
More search party members and
Wait for word of espial, but what
Sense this is makes mock of your
Optics as by the time you arrive
There’s no sign save the shine of
Fresh grazes. Soiled with residual
Cells of a shade only recently found
On the spectrum and clearly flaked
In a rage of inertial proportions.
Stooped to the soot you fill
Test tubes with proof for later
Analysis, and condemn the stretch
Of sour blackened land. Still
There is enough to be on with
For tomorrow’s sake and your
Once beloved shape’s; enough
For you to know and her to be
Told, once caught, that the only
Heart holding out is still yours
Regardless of what it instructed
Its landlord to do.