Bodhisattva

For a beautiful woman whom I love, addressing the themes of the unstructured nature of love, the problems that arise when ego comes into love, as well as a few others.

This moonlit lake of midnight has spoiled,
slowly tainted and jaded like divorce.
Lantern-lit rafts scatter across mist,
depressed stars in a disheartened sky,
and fishermen contort into angler fish.

I notice my eyes look similar to theirs,
and a cyclone with feline grace
tears across violently indecisive waves,
pulling me into its centre, eroding sandstone flesh.

A rose of light bursts from the horizon,
disintegrating my bones like first love.
The cyclone channels my ashes towards her
like Elijah on his chariot of fire and horses.

Leaves turn away, her shy shoulders,
and I crawl into the rose's eye.
I know she thinks it's dull,
but to me it has a divine glow,
like light refracting off hail in midday sunshine.