Some nights when I lie awake
with him snoring at my side
a familiar longing rises up:
Adore, cherish, pursue me again.
For a moment temptation lures me
with honeysuckle’s sweet fragrance.
I ache for a glimpse of my black-and-white past
when the boy sat as close as possible
just to draw near.
Then I projected annoyance
but inside I trembled at his unabashed admiration.
So careless
I turned him away.
After a weak pause
I refuse, knowing those memories will entwine
my heart for days, and his image will blossom
in my dream garden
unless I slash the wild vines.
Suddenly the Spirit whispers:
This is an idol, a false god, a poor substitute
for the love I lavish upon you.
If you ask, seek, and knock
I will overflow your earthen vessel.

As I divide the dark and light
with a switch
the sickly sweet scent dissipates
like smoke from a snuffed flame.


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