No Wonder I Was Sweating
I asked for it, of course.
I could have gone for it harder
or pumped up the fantasy
ten fold
but we were not
wearing the right faces.
I could have placed a gloved hand
on the small of his back
and whispered
five dirty words into his brain
I could have split
my
heart
in two
and poured my love
into our memories
of tribe called quest
and a cappella parties
and balcony smoking.
The best was Ray Charles with the
ceiling fan on
and his shirt off
and the kissing
on the couch
right before I left.
but we knew.
It was the end of the four year
farce.
There is no real joy in realizing fantasies.
I should have left it alone. We should have.
His nineteen year old face and my
long hair
forever joined in
an embrace.
But the worst dicomfort I know
has always come from the should haves and the could haves
and of all the fucked up things I do
saying "what might have been"
is not one of them
because the what might have beens are
undeniably tempting
VIVA LOS SUENOS
as disappointing as they are sometimes.
I am a moment of calm now.
Flat and beige
but raised in parts
a relief map of
the real death of hopeless situations.
He and I will never be as close as we were yesterday.
because today we slayed that Idealistic Nuisance.
We are free of
all that we
and we were heavy
and injured
solace seekers blind and quiet.
I will speak to him, now:
Look, your swallow can limp away now
and my songbird will nurse her
vocal chords for a little while
(she found them in an age-old pile of dreams and nightmares)
Because what dreams can possibly come
in the middle of the day,
92 degrees and
sweating
while you flip
between ESPN and our relationship discussion?
and then
I turn you
on?
We were electricity once.
Now, channels of movement.
It is okay that we are moving
in
different directions.
