The Lady In Question

Who is this lady I love so much?

The lady in question is beautiful.
Fair smooth skin. A rich womanly body.
Long blonde hair
For whicha man would die
Just to touch…once.

And eyes…such eyes.
Green, but with many other shades.
Eyes which burn with passion.
Eyes that a sailor could drown in.
Eyes that a gallowglass would be consumed in,
Like an inferno that he welcomes.

The lady in question is wise in many ways.
And compassionate.
And caring.
Fiercely loyal to her friends.
And she is fragile.

The lady in question is passionate.
She is erotic.
She loves with an intensity
That burns into a man’s soul
And addicts him to her company.

And yet, the lady in question is distant.
She wears her heartbreak
Like a scarlet “H” for all that love her to see.
Lovers hover around her
As moths do a candle.

Yet strangely, it is the moths who are anxious to be consumed,
And the flame that is reticent to take them.
Seeking that one perfect moth.
That one true love
For which she has burned.

And I know, deep in my heart,
That the lady in question
Will certainly never return my love.
I will never touch her.
I will never kiss her.

I will never hold her and protect her
in my arms through the night
and see her awake, her eyes half closed
with hair sleep tousled, smiling for me.

But I know, deep in my heart,
That I will always love the lady in question.
No matter what she does.
No matter where she goes.
No matter what she says.

I will remain one of those forlorn moths,
Circling a flame
Which has selected
A different and most fortunate fuel
To make her burn bright.