Tell Me

Tell me how to proceed
when I understand instinctively,
like a sleek silver cat,
that rejection is predestined,
that it is just history
being soullessly repeated,
ignoring my fervent future,
that dormant desire,
cheating me, deceiving,
irritating wounds healed,
beckoning me into yearning
for what was, what could have been,
if given a nickel of a chance,
just a plugged nickel.

Even though the mustard sunflower,
stellar, sage, poignant,
strokes my arm, tries to persuade,
there is no revisiting bygones,
for caramel memories delude,
chocolate passions betray,
licorice assurances beg,
reminding me that I do not covet
a return to absolved conflict.
And yet, I am an admirer
of the ultimate soul mate,
the one who recklessly pines
for caramel kisses,
transparent affections vivid,
the one I caress, covet,
even with eyes locked,
trying to shut out cooing whispers,
beating myself up until I shout:

"Stop it! Just stop it!"

Tell me, tell me how to evolve
from this abandoned love;
I just need to comprehend bluntly
in translucent, clear words,
no more prisoners sequestered,
rejoicing in lucid liberation.