Ode to Doris, my Daisy

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Nobody but you knows what that means and nobody has to know. I said it because it’s true, because soon you will be gone (lost, lusting, listing in love) and because I had to, because it, I had to get out of me, because when I hold onto it, I swell up way beyond my breaking point to the brink of bursting and retching and puking tears and terror and unimaginable emptiness; terminal, chronic, unending longing that can’t be quenched or filled or satisfied or satiated by you or anyone because that vacant empty hole was made by no one but me believing you to be my it and my all, my dream and my queen. I put your beautifully bleak and black porcelain perfection high in the heavens on an altar of marble with ivory, mahogany and imaginary imagery of skulls and serpents and thrills and chills. I saw light in your darkness and the deep in your depth. There in that chasm and that hell was your glory and your greatness accepting and embracing all that you were and were willing to be…and you invited me in to dare, to dine, to date, to feast on your fantasticness and I did and I don’t regret one morsel or minute because it was you who hinted at what I’d later learn, that death is dark and lovely and lively and delightfully delicious and ever so abnormally normal. Thank you for taking me there and inviting me over the edge, the ledge to the lesson and the lyrics of your brooding, black, desperately dark, daring, caring heart, shimmering, saintly soul.

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