Lean in closer, I beg you
That I might lend your warmth to my brow.
Those weak fingers tremble around
The tender necks of daffodils
(Piss flowers, as the case may be--)
Whose short lives illuminate all too briefly
The pink of your breath
Parted slightly by
The whites of your teeth.
I’m a fool for you, sweetheart
Since that’s all I’ve ever learned to do
And though I must soon disappoint you, rest assured
That my own shame and embarrassment
(Hideous, godless, craven embarrassment--)
Will haunt me far longer than bad jokes or a heavy tongue
Or prying eyes and giddy heat
Of one arm brushing with mine.
Nothing good can come of this and,
Truthfully,
Nothing ever will. I know that at least.
But, then again, we’d both seem to hope that we need never state the obvious
Lest our delusion spoil and deprive us the taste
Of some sweet dream never even dreamed
Disguising only brass tar and bitter almonds underneath
Pressed, as ever, into clay.
Nevermind all that, the coward commands to say.
All I want is to hear you laugh
Whether pained or stupid or base,
And to remember, after all, that for some short time
We could not help but be beside one another
Nor be torn apart.
(Another lie, however intentioned--)
You know, no matter,
As a matter of fact there isn’t much else
Much as I try and pretend.
Just pass a few of them coffin nails
And I’ll help you pass the time.
(2018/2026)