Concrete Boudoir

I didn’t fall in love with him Among the dunes of Cape Cod beaches, As his eyes glimmered like the sea glass Half-buried in the sand. I didn’t fall in love with him In dew-dappled fields While fathoming the star-strewn heavens On a silent summer night. I fell in love in a basement, Untouched by the harsh light of day, Where passion and shame could be concealed. Within the dank, cobwebbed walls of our concrete boudoir. We take our accustomed seats on the couch, Close enough that our legs touch. The flickering lights ache to give out, To leave us bathed in the coaxing gloom, Save for blue, ethereal glow of the TV. Spiders weave canopies above the couch, Crowning the cellar with swathes of silk. The ancient heater sighs wistfully, Refusing to give up its warmth, Forcing us closer together. I know that this passion and this shame is not ours, That this boudoir and this romance are mine alone. Lingering touches, offhand compliments, Brushing his hand against my jaw, Dubbing my stubble “a beard.” Gossamer moments that add up to nothing. But why not romanticize it all, So that this love may be as tragic and beautiful As it is hopeless and bitter? I build up the romance of my unrequited love So that is fitting of a Grecian tragedy Or even a Lana del Rey song – He passes me a cup of diet Coke, Sickly sweet, But I drink it anyways Because it’s his favorite. Even soda can sentimentalized Into the sweet poison of forlorn love – Maybe the woe will be worthwhile If it bears forth something beautiful, Or at least glamorous in my mind. And so I wait, sipping at my diet Coke, Pining for a love that will never come Within the dank, cobwebbed walls of my concrete boudoir.