Transition Into…

Goodbye. Love.

0329.2025

Goodbye, wild and unnamed love—

Age, with its hush, unclasps

the trembling flower

that opened in my youth,

arrogant with need,

drenched in want.

It bloomed

like tuberose—too rich, too ready—

whenever a golden-limbed boy

bent his gaze toward mine.

I see the last of you now:

your face, a soft pomegranate,

those quiet, knowing eyes,

that mouth and those brows

etched in my own reflection.

And I think—

we were meant to live

as one body,

woven in peace.

But the saltwater spoke.

It told the truth:

this kind of love

requires building.

So I unfastened my hands

and let this kind of love drift.

And still,

I know—

something greater waits.

A love unnamed,

needing no mirror.

m.c.f.