Katharos

There was definitely something,
Or so it seemed to me,
That hovered between make-believe,
And this makeshift reality.

That sweet, poisonous, elixir,
I did consume and suppress,
To occasion my damsel,
... no (more) distress.

And so, dear lady,
Here we part.
Do forgive the mutterings,
Of this feeble heart.

But remember yourself,
As a poet's muse.
As Helen or Venus.
A dame to not refuse.

Let poetry now,
Forever return to prose.
Let the eyes of the stillborn,
Forever remain closed.