to the fairest of the fair to the fairest of the fair-

how could I fail to recognize you-
you with your tender mercies
and uncounted griefs
so bravely on display?

I would rather fall,
than drown,
but you are all piscean,
tumultous,
and moist.

thinking of you is a panoply
imagery of tentacles
and libation,
daggered moments,
and unhoped for liberation-
ecstasy,
to be the one who got away.

I know well now, who I am,
and what I encompass,
what penetrates,
what my soul entwines unto-
not you.

so have you come
to play in my funeral procession?
or perhaps to indulge
in a last midnight confession?
(or just to underline,
thick and black, obsession)
whichever or whatever,
worst or least,
unwelcome to the feast-
you are unwanted, uneeded,
and have ceased,
to mean anything at all, to me.

and you will say,
(and I will say)-
that is a lie;
perhaps it is, but that matters naught,
and in any case,
goodbye.