Maturity

Without my having wished it you were: you were before my eyes in all the years of separation I looked at you. Hot blood that you are, seething in my tiniest particles from the marrow of my bones now. Now no longer are you like a doll: the plaything of my childhood dreams that was forgotten tossed under the dust of time under the storeroom bed as I grew up in the battlefield of the market I broke, yes, like all human beings in the onslaught of the monster of profit upon my skull upon my heart. Without my having wished it you are: more present than at any other time before my eyes: with the same gleam of your patient gaze on my face with the same sweet smile at my mischief with the same kind, warm embrace in my weeping. Did you forgive? Did you forgive? O great love: the cruelty of that immature child?....