Feigned nonchalance does not fool
My body
Your solace is arrhythmia
The wobbling, teetering
Too-loud heartbeat Of
your captive
Pen-mate
Your solace is arrhythmia
A fluctuating victory
Whose only term:
I suffer.
And I, broken
Would be yours
Is that it?
I would,
I’m sure.
And yet,
Only your craving for chaos
Would make me stay.
The point was hammered: my protocol is off, hurtful.
I know it.
The point was hammered so I broke:
Not one more blow.
I know what your apology says:
I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted
I’m sorry I couldn’t convince you to stay with me
I’m sorry that you were unhappy
I’m sorry that I snapped at you
And I wish I hadn’t said I never wanted to speak to you again
Because in reality I do
Every day
The way we used to talk
But not now
With the prospect of your misdeeds looming overhead.
Oh yes, I know what your apology says,
And I know that it doesn’t compare
With the apology I owe you.
Anxiety is worthless
I always know what you really mean
I am just too easily inundated
With the polite imperative of
Implausible alternatives
To accept the subtle
Only my implied
Messages
And defiantly jostling
Elbow
Have the audacity
To ask
The question
My silence
And raised eyebrows
Why not?
Why can’t you?
I don’t want excuses.
I don’t want tension.
I want you.
Why not?
This jacket
Is more of a blanket
Than a coat
Oversized and familiar
And I’ve missed it
This jacket
Is a peace token
Genuine warmth
Overwhelming
What remained of
Frigidity.
Ironic
The things I’ve written of you
In a crepe-papered journal
On the art-pressed pages
In a gel-y metallic blue
Ironic
The early violet curlicues
Just before the blank remainder
Adorning the parchment
In ever-darkening hues
We fit
Sliding simply
Into these roles
With only
Briefest trepidation
And then succumbing
To the pressure
Of meshing cogs
We fit
Exactly as we are
In this back-to-back
Tribulation
Confirming
Our very
Separation
With benevolent
Detachment
We fit
Not altogether
Unexpectedly
But shockingly well
After rusting
Apart.
