I just don't want to talk about love hypothetically anymore.
by stoop-kid
even the dreamers
need to be called on their bluff;
we talk about endeavors
together
across the states,
and taking a weekend
to go some place
where we could tell a different life
at the parties,
and share the same last name;
I would leave the bedroom door open,
and you wouldn't need to knock
for an invitation to fill my bed
where we could finally leave
our chests most bare,
as we should.
but still, we speak of it
as more of an "if"
rather than a "when,"
and smoke on our ignorance
until we can play like
the "when" is "now".
and silly me,
I get so caught up,
only to be dashed when I see
none of it is happening
as it should.
you see the door ajar,
but you don't cross the threshold,
and it's been for so long,
that I certainly am no longer sure
which of us is the one
standing in the hall,
waiting to be beckoned
to listen to the blood
pumping through the other's chest.