THE PAIN WAS DELICIOUSLY EXQUISITE

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    THE PAIN WAS DELICIOUSLY EXQUISITE
    THE PAIN WAS DELICIOUSLY EXQUISITE

    The pain was deliciously exquisite

    Down to our last visit.

    We were so high dancing in the sky

    You blamed me for not being magic

    Fulfilling only fantasies is so tragic

    I felt the warmth of your light

    Taking me on that beautiful flight

    The warmth turned to heat

    I craved the bittersweet

    My angel wings wrapped you in desire

    Then I flew ever higher

    To be consumed by your fire.


    © Alison Buzzotta 2002

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    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

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