A thousand kisses touch my lips and flit away
Melancholic butterflies seeking nectar from other empty flowers
Delectable ambrosia? Perhaps —
But leaving the tongue fleetingly
Donating only bitter aftertaste.
No recollection comes to mind with ease
— I think I left cold beds with unturned sheets —
Most satisfied to bear the preface “tease.”
Mechanics are too easy to repeat:
I could write a manual; pen all the intricacies of
falsified intimacy.
Flirtation and coy downward gazes
— Pegs in a game I’ve mastered —
Then when confessions come of great desire
I bite my tongue so as not to repeat “I know.”
I use the piles of hearts to step upon my pedestal
Watching with disinterest as the numbers rise.
My captives swear so many hollow oaths
— and all I’ve heard before —
Uninformed adoration turns to white noise.
- June 07 2014.