Playing a harp
with no strings
I swear I hear beautiful music
it seems derivative
unconscious tussle-trap
you sit
reclined at 75 degrees
in a chair made from
the most bleached bones
they were promised earnestly
you seem to love me
you do.

I always tell too much,
I am very good at poker, but
I cannot lie about things
when they tend to matter,
the cards are pretty with
rounded corners and  
red shapes (not like the actual
Heart I keep muffled under
my shirt, overwrought metaphor
that it is)
I've learned to
hold them flat
against my chest breathe
slowly
not like the ocean
I have swallowed my eagerness
tasted chalky salve
hoped it was medicine
weathered electricstorms
conjoined love and self
(which was the point, once,
and i think will be the takeaway
when this is all over)
lost poetry lost you
become stoic but warm
a man
instead of
wounded still I fear
I always smile a beat
too short
lately,
you always know,
It's not fair,

and we could talk later
I could see you around
but neutered love
still is Love.
Unforgivably so.