09/11/2019
07:11 AM
Resilience, lust, and stale cold 2 AM's
Six is a crowd—your dog the friendly ghost is asleep
Clothes stank of candle smoke, alcohol wetting the hems
If laying on your lap would save a weep
Why did your name resound in the car and not a bleep?
Hands frozen, black mask tied on a miserably-pimpled face
Fingers on unresponsive buttons, head swarmed with your critically-acclaimed image
Eyes on tears, heart on indefinite hold, shoes with untied lace
If I could write a book and not show you a page
Would confessing instead not cause an outrage?
Uncensored craving for your lips, hands almost wrapped around your waist
Murmured a quick "I love you"—wondered if you heard it as you dropped me off
Catharsis, crazed cats in your neighbourhood; and by your failed attempts chasing them I was graced
If it takes one night and a purple kiss to snag you off,
Will you consider my plans in running off?
Hospital floor, lethal highways, sleeping next to your foot
One whisk and you turn me to a submissive companion
Unused guitar strings, your godly-sounding burps and your sudden scoot
If I was a compass held by a traveller sat in his wagon,
Would it point me to you—my home, where I am your devout patron?
Quiet ones, unopened umbrellas, brushing shoulders
Looked back to where "starting as friends" was an understatement
Euphoria, a hope for purgation somehow lets off white smolders
If five years have made me impatient
Looking at you not minding another five is this Southern boy's only spiritual entertainment
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoetryI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
