But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

that you might have been mine,
instead of hers.
your heart twisted round her  unmindful fingers.
her gaze not at you,
but elsewhere.
her lack of pounding heart like a stone,
where mine would have won races.
though, not for prize,
nor glory, would your love have been won.
but for keeping, ever sweetly,
in harmony with mine,
all save for this wasted affection.
future pained memories,
of the honey dripping from her hair.
bruised flowers, at your feet.
you held her attention by flattery.
she held your heart
by sight.
and my sunlight became
this shadowed doorway.




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