in this technicolor land
of prisms, not prisons,
where I've escaped tonight,

the electric kaleidoscope
of december's northern lights
whirls above our throbbing heads.


and with every frantic blink of the strobe lights,
my memory of you—face of a madonna
but lips, apple-sweet and wicked like Eve's--

flickers and fades before me,
a wintery specter of lust and wistful folly
gone gone gone.


now, clutching hands and hips and hearts,
she and I, we spin ourselves dizzy
in some neon corner of the urban cosmos.

and in her radiant curls and flaming hands,
I have found a blazing reality
more beautiful than your ephemeral illusion.


later, wandering home with her
in a quiet city beneath the moon's milky eye,
we let our words drift like sparks

toward a sky un-glimpsed for years,
some distant horizon where we might take
a holiday from our hearts.

A/N: And the series has finally drawn to a close.

To all my readers and reviewers: thank you for your praise, critiques, criticism, and most especially, for your patience with me as I struggled to finish this collection, a process which has taken me almost a year and a half. I am also aware that this last poem may have taken some of you by surprise, but I simply can't lie or deceive here, when poetry is the one place I may be myself. Writing these particular poems has consumed my life like few others have, and I do not think I will be writing about love for a long time. However, I do not regret this creative endeavor or the girl who inspired it, and I hope, although the project sapped my creativity at times, that I have grown as a writer because of it. Thank you again, and please review. Any constructive criticism is always welcome.