poethearchitect
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I wish I love you
didn’t dissolve so freely
from your careless mouth.
My hardcover is worn.
I thought leather was thick-skinned.
Spine is gone but I manage
to hold myself together.
Tears bleed the words
and each page, a crime scene.
Writing about you
Three men, one legacy, one-hour thrones:
the common await their nearing fall. Trading
words not for women, sports and anatomy
provoke debate, even war. Tenured skin holds
endless wisdom, while eager young wallow in
Eyes without vision:
the reflection unbearable.
Life must take an intermission.
My undoing, irreparable.
Conception - orgasms and smiles,
he made a pastime of your flesh.
Pitch black.
The streetlights question the blinds for answers.
They slightly part their lips to gossip
but are sworn to secrecy.
I knew the walls were talking though.
You could hear the paint chipping
Excuse my gaze.
My eyes have poor manners.
They tell my secrets to the deaf.
Break silence with their violent whispers
and snicker in braille for the blind to read.
I’m still teaching them discretion.
Transitions are never easy.
I know.
I have not mastered moving on.
You were an awkward sentence
leaving me open-ended.
I knew we weren’t over,
but to be continued…
There wasn’t an introduction.
My eyes are windowless frames.
Climb in, my soul wide open.
Being translucent is all too familiar.
The unknown is known.
My youth was a boarding school
where I slept in a waterbed of tears.
Made a mess of my sheets,
I was teased for wetting the bed.
But my mourning saved many
from not waking up another morning.
My cologne has a striking resemblance to the city’s dirty laundry.
Only difference I cannot contain my secrets to a hamper
or wash them away with bribery.
That stench unfortunately is must.
