Emily Dickinson

“I held a Jewel in My Fingers”

 I held a Jewel in my fingers

And went to sleep

The day was warm, and winds were prosy

I said “Twill keep”

 I woke and chid my honest fingers,

The Gem was gone

And now, an Amethyst remembrance

Is all I own

 Emily Dickinson

“Infatuation” by Jewel

Infatuation is a strange thing.
A bony creature thin with feeding on itself.

It is addicted not to its subject, but to its own vain hunger

And needs but a pretty face to fuel its rampant imagination.

It’s humid couch and sweaty palms.

It’s fleshy carpets ablaze with conquest.

But when conquering is complete,

the blood leaves its limbs and it becomes disenchanted.

Disappointed even to the point of disgust

with its subject, who sits then, like a hollow trunk,

emptied of its precious cargo

and left to fade like defeated naval ships.

A seed relieved of its transparent husk,

to dissolve finally on a rough and impatient tongue.


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