Dwelling deeper in the mystical union that never was,
the spiritual ties, which severed before tied.
The perfect moon which I thought you were,
it’s imperfections which I didn’t care to buy.
The light you emanated, I thought was bright,
blinded I was, as I studied you day and night.
Words, did I lack to describe what the blind used to see,
a mere poem you are now,
whose poet I don’t wanna be.