There is never a choice, but only many choices
never a coming out, rather many revelations
and never a realisation, just one after another again –
as a morning veil withdrawn across the sky
with that natal, waking, feeling of something new,
like the wonderful unfolding of flowers.
She waits quietly in a place she has made her own
able only to be what dawnings have revealed
and through the choices, the constant revelations
the realisations, the makings of herself
one thing holds true: the bud, the early flower, dew
were never seen – the morning but a dream.
Now never more real, never more ready for life, one
single sadness: she has never been loved.
Not taken, not possessed, not seduced, persuaded or
taken home – but met, embraced and wanted –
even desired, simply for who she is, without sense
of being tainted, but rather, perfumed by her love.
2012 © Andie Davidson
From the book, Realisations
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