I didn’t notice tears making their escape down my cheeks
Until you caught them with your tongue
Raised yourself up and said, “What?”
Your eyes were sea glass in the gathering dark.
I didn’t love, but the evenings went down too fast and made me drunk
And you were the right height, your face was proportional,
A chestnut-brown smell I could almost taste, and the things you said so blunt
That my face got warm and my mouth formed a “What the hell.”
Back then I believed anything anyone said about me
Whether they said I was a poet or a whore
I was better off listening to the voice inside my head
Even if all it said was “More, more.”
Where are you now, with the stripes across your chest like days
Darkness after light after darkness after light
Are your bones weeping collagen in an unmarked grave
Did you meet a woman who treats you right.
Men like you do the dirty work of forcing themselves on history
The muscle of your hearts knotted and hard, but still you do as you are told
If your voice could be here now, what would it say through me
I mean besides that dark sound from within your throat
Deep where no light can go, quickening breath, a smile creeping into your voice
Like sunrise creeps across floorboards now in other bedrooms
What would you say if you were here?
What would you do if you could choose?
I hope you are happy as I am happy and I hope
That you can forgive me for the way I strung up these words
Like lights that will not shine bright enough or true, poetry must be another lie
Though as far as lies go, it’s still prettier than most.
P.S. This post originally featured a cropped version of Magritte’s An Act of Violence in the header. Due to STUPID CENSORSHIP ISSUES I updated the header to Magritte’s The Lovers. Here’s An Act of Violence below: