Nietze's Lover

Your hands
are what I remember
and the sound of your
voice as you
lay sleep dreaming
drowsey telling me
of where you have
been and where you
might be going.
The passion blurs
in a mirror reflection
that shatters
at the roughness of
your touch upon
skin that begged
to be hurt for all its sins.
Redemption
that all fallen angels seek.
How did I know then
that you would be
my resurection
after all this time
in the land of the dead?
This child
Our child
has brought me at last
back to the world
that I had forsaken.
I cannot tell you the
lost years and the
lonely hours
of a life full of
wandering ceaslessly
looking for home
begging for ways
to die.
I thought that there was
nothing for me
but endless days
empty days
of nothing and nothing.
Stupid struggle of
existence.
I was Nietze's lover.
I went down empty
into your arms
and came up full.
And it is your hands
that still linger
in my mind
their rough touch
gentled by a long
labor to bring
something good
at last into the world.