It’s a sweet irony—love. I don’t ever
claim we had it, just that one night, that first night—and what can you even
say of sex in a bed, that conventional bullshit. It’s meaningless—perfect only for
drunks in need of comfort and old married couples grown out of spontaneity.
Despite this, our first time soars with the wind lost among whorring clouds—a
terrible night with too much passion thundering the entirety of my mind.
Affairs can do that I suppose. Increase passion. Such is the case with filling any
need. And here I am on the ground looking up and you seem to be flying through
me that stolid expression. Am I a ghost? Like a tissue for your adulterous
sneeze yet unable to wipe away your tracks— like water in need of washing itself.
My knees burn from this rug (I don’t know why in hell you keep this ratty
thing). Will you not say anything? I come at you begging at your door; in your
house, but you can’t give me a response. You stand there leaning on that vomit
of a sofa with that contorted and grotesque face of confusion. (You never like
to be confused—you can’t be confused, you run too fast from it.)
Oh now you want to talk, now you think you have some words—no.
You don’t think this has been hard for me. That every phone call I want only to
hear your voice at the other end, how when it doesn’t come I hate myself for
hope. This isn’t easy! Kneeling alone
with you standing right there as like a mediocre tapestry my life and my dreams
unravel themselves and sweep hope in the dust pan and recycle my future—our future.
I don’t know her, how she makes she feel, how she does the things that I can’t,
how she says the things that I won’t, how she makes love to you. Wake up! O don’t
give me that look, with the red in your cheeks, 17 months ago that was you and
me and those cheeks were not red, that mouth was not so dangling. What has she
done to you; that girl, you deserve at least a woman. Or maybe that is the
biggest irony of all, me on my knees I think all stand up so I can you look in
your blank eyes. That’s what you deserve, to be penetrated by a capable mind,
to be looked at by someone able to judge. So I’ll have a look not that you’ll
mind nor could you say so if you did.
Still no response but that half opened maw?[she says with a laugh and a grin] However
strenuous my earlier efforts forgive my mendicancy for I have found myself no
longer in the emptiness of your eyes. Your smiles corners no longer contain me.
Thank you I guess, I’ll just go ahead and go
Wake up (and get a new rug),
lock the door behind me
give that little girl
a hug
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