Fragile and wound
Like a wicker basket
I harvest shame
By the earfuls
You on the other hand
Are half empty
*
I cannot even begin
To understand you
Beyond the confines
Of your former lovers
Who speak through you
As if a mannequin
Only they never bother
To alter their voices enough
To confirm their existence
*
Deluded by the grandeur
Of my heightened expectations
Infatuation flaunts
An unseemly neurosis
I assemble the flavors
Of your primary palate
In an effort to slide
Inside unchallenged
But sensing my intentions
You’ve removed
Your left ring finger
That nothing enduring
Should come to pass
*
Perhaps I will never know
Your hands in proximity
Absolving my loneliness
Or the sound of your voice
Shuddering under the ballast
Of genuine correspondence
Perhaps I will never know
Any love at all
Having none to spare myself
But there is always the dream
The…
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mindlovemisery 