His eyes do not register my being
but his mind is buzzing with my existence
I can tell
by the way he stares, stressed, forced into the distance with attention emphasized on peripheral vision.
Oh, I am right here
and he knows this
he is all too aware that I am wearing the pretty blue skirt today,
that the other young men are paying million dollar compliments
that are deposited into our little bank of wins and losses of humility,
one stab at his ego,
one illuminated point on the score board for my courage.
He pretends not to hear
my laugh
when his jaw tenses and he refuses to join this plane of energy
but rather pretends that he is in a dark, sound-proof cell
where he belongs
where I do not want him
because I get a sick little thrill,
a lurch in the sadistic region of my brain
to see him struggle so,
to witness a weakness in his steel, tough exterior.
You have a heart
and it is beautiful.
I want to share this sensitivity
but if you are incapable,
I would like to get a torturous, self-inflicted pleasure
at your lack of interest;
One deep, throbbing dagger in my tender, juicy heart
slow and painful
all for you, my dear.