My Privy Love

My privy love, my gem to stone, the future’s grey, and sore
Alone. Thus sacral tears, inflame the heart, my phantom
Bride, I’m torn apart. But photic love, the waves of life,
An opus stream, a mystic light. And soul to God, adrift the
Flame, alert to truth, and portrait pain. Thus the Spirit, a
Bleeding wound, a cultic thorn, a fallen moon. And depth
The core, a tinge of blood, a crimson bone, and tribal
Drums. But light to pain, the heart awoke, the tale of love,
 
The faith of hope. And night to soul, my treasured rose, a
Touch of grief, a broken clove. Thus the fallen, a risen prayer,
Infused with love, and forced to care. And breathless art, my
Phantom bride, the pearl of life, the depth of pride. But symbol
Soul, aloof to dreams, suffused with fear, and skeptic streams.
Thus the future, a hint of death, a flaming suture, proudly kept.