Peniamina Iv Poem by Melissa Hurst

Shall I consider him fiction?
Or a beautiful non-fiction that existed
in my fictional life?

I should have detached,
but the attraction remains hot,
burning and hardening my heart
against all suitors that come forth.

I smite the smitten
and berate the bachelors.
And in my mind,
Peniamina sits upon a throne
above all humanity.

And Jehovah shall punish me
for such blasphemy.
He will prolong the pangs
of my heart
until I release the memory of Peniamina
from my heart.

But a smitten heart
confuses pleasure and pain,
for they both seem a delight
whilst the beloved is in their sight.

Cupid was never to blame,
and so there is an answer.
My eyes were neither shut nor closed,
but a voice whispered, 'He will be your god
above other gods, open your eyes,
look upon him, listen to his voice,
and you shall know that he is God.'

Such euphonic power lay within his voice,
far surpassing the ordinary male.
Ah and his kiss!
Saliva so savory and twirling tongue so tasteful.

Even if illness altered memory,
he would remain in every vein.
'Peniamina, go run and play
and let this voyeur be satisfied
with the sight that fulfills her.'