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THE FUGITIVE
I, like a bank rugged and steep, stand speechless and stock-still and darkly gaze at you.
I, like a big, foolish storm, of a sudden come rushing on and try to rend my being and scatter it parcelled in a whirl of passion.
You, like the lightning's flash slender and keen, pierce the heart of the turbulent darkness, to disappear in a vivid streak of laughter.
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You desired my love and yet you did not love me.
Therefore my life clings to you like a chain of which clank and grip grow harsher the more you struggle to be free.
My despair has become your deadly companion, clutching at the faintest of
