​You would possess her
and call it love,
suffocating and insufferable,
not the breath,
but the death of.

Extinguishing the flame
that drew you in,
the metaphysical spark.
waning,
the window dims.

You flit off
into the night
eschewing darkness
and seeking the light.

Seeking out holders
and candlesticks

fire melts the wax
consumes the wick.

Before night is ended
and you meet the sun,
you learn love was a dream
and having awakened, 
is now done.

M. Zane McClellan

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