A Sun for Tantalus

He is an apple

With all the brilliance of summer’s ripe fruit, I would pick him

But he resides on branches too high for me to reach though I

Stretch, grasp at his skin, he leaves me holding wind in my hands

All the more beautiful for it

All the more forbidden

No doubt in an attempt to teach me some divine lesson on restraint

On selflessness or subtlety, you sobering sunshine lacking in nothing but a regard for my sanity

I am Tantalus

Forever feigning for things I can’t have, You look so damn good from above

Cruel Shine

The pleasure is mine

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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