You are the great what if of my life.
I shared my hundred million possibilities
but none took hold. Not a single one!
There remains only the dribble on the sheets
and the presumption of another time.
Like arthritic lovers, you and I,
we perform our coupling,
seeking pleasure less than fleeing pain,
melting in light less than groaning in shade,
rolling back stiff–necked when we’re done.
We once played a game, you and I.
We followed rules that those before
had traced in clouds and assured us
remained, though a season of storms
had scoured the sky to a perfect blue.
We lie together, you and I,
spent and gazing at the sky.
There is no sky but a ceiling,
and the cobwebs in the corners
remind us of dreams we have forgotten.
I shift again into your arms
and beg for more, but nothing happens.
There is only the laughing shame, for
I know you will forward this to your friends
as an account of my shortcomings.
No related posts.
Sat, Nov 1, 2008
Verse