Sacred and Profane

He thought no good could come of this ;
But thought not twice that he’d persist.
The kiss of life,
The kiss of strife ;
Malingered… Dallied … Partner ? Wife ?

She was, no doubt, a tad unstable
And hurt him (though she thought not able);
To some avail,
Beyond the pale :
Their lovers’ life was worse than jail.

Divided by a common tongue ;
He made her feel old, she made him feel young.
The dream unfulfilled,
The passion now chilled:
The dull monotone of a voice that once thrilled.

A curious thing, this thing called love;
Pounce like an eagle, drift like a dove.
A blink of the eye,
A baby’s first cry;
Or a dead star’s white light, as it stares from the sky.