We are well-defined
in the obvious
the elemental;
food, *** laughter, song.
I accept your guitar
and understand your hands.
You understand my chaos
and accept my need
to outwardly order things.
Sleight-of-hand; my manifest patina
to deflect scrutiny
of a disorderly mind
and a mutinous heart.
(I don't know any more than you
why I love you always, sometimes)
You have called me anchor,
kissed my rope-burned palms
in return
I have witnessed your knight,
crossed your chivalrous cloak
thrown down on ***** water.
Yet, for all the elements,
for all the ropes and ladders
there still exists this aether;
the candle's blue flicker
where you drift, and I
drown.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC