you may permit me in
we make exotic dishes of laughter and shared values
over talk of philosophic rapport
childish banter
and gestures of tender philanthropy on each finger tip
on every pressed lip
but you wont give me a key
though it's where I live
this is my home, you've made it so, just for me
you showed me in
you courteously carried my persona into your door
you do me the greatest of services
those that would make any soul well-lived
if I removed any trace of my exsistance you would despair
as you have
but you refuse to give me a key
and without it, it makes it as though you dont really,
actually,
want me
and what most anguishes my mind
is that I always gingerly close the door from the outside
if it werent for my soft touch, and attentive eyes
I'd have reason to believe that something is wrong with me
or my love
when, seemingly, it was made to our advantage
I do the best to support your virtues
and those that disturb the peace
This is where my belongings know their place
This is my home
where I linger after I wake
where I loose myself in the silence
where I drink myself into a stuppor
because my lover wont give me a key
You leave me broken up
but you gather my peaces by light of kindness
You don't understand, I'm hitting a wall
I'm hitting your good heart
your good, muddled, heart
I'm hitting a wall
a hard hard evaluation
of a disturbing
heart-to-heart
of which I never learned of