His Gethsemane

William Merritt Chase, 1888
William Merritt Chase, 1888

His Gethsemane 

He thinks of her now,

so intently, she fills up his void.

His cup runneth over.

 

 He watches her there,

so fixated, she imprints on his memory,

his still life.

 

He presses her to him,

so tightly, she dissolves into his skin,

his life’s blood .

  

He breathes her in,

so deeply, she bleeds through his pores,

his Gethsemane.

 

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