Wednesday, August 5, 2009

8
8
8
1.
8
Bury it deep, deep
Enough to forget about it,
The longing,
The want.
Remember the first moment
I began to think about it,
About being with someone
To love without care,
Without regard or fear,
Someone to love me back,
To feel, to share,
And not hold back.
No fa├žade.
No white picket fences,
No prettily painted shutters.
My finger bare.
Bury it deep,
Cover it with
A truckload of cement.
Smooth it over real nice,
Drive a handsome car over it,
And park it.
Post the wooden planks
All around the yard,
Paint them white.
Paint the shutters, too,
Hang them up right
On the front of the house.
It sparkles under the lights,
This ring on my finger.
I see it looking at me
In the kitchen,
While I am driving,
When we make love.
I see it. Them.
The stones.
My heart is buried,
Like a lump of carbon,
Turning diamond hard.
8
8
8
2.
8
Getting used to wearing a mask,
Growing more comfortable daily.
Not really.
But I am learning to fake it
With you,
Cover the unfulfilled,
The hole
That is we lack.
Our missing piece.
Not a disease, not death,
Not the end of the world.
Just not everything
That we could be.
8
8
8
3.

Unnerved by my eyes,
Where you used to find
Comfort, you now peer
Into unfamiliar sights,
Friendly, warm,
Yet you feel alarm
Slightly, by the absence of fear,
The presence of metallic charm.



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