I leaned into your lips
That first night, a single kiss
Became more, then more as
You allowed a little tongue.
I leaned into your hair-hidden ear,
Soft words whispered
Until you allowed yourself led
Our first time abed.
I leaned into your body
Of such a promised tall fit.
All those months, all those years
Yet passion never found.
I leaned into your shoulder
In that lounge of constant shade.
Again, again, said Chin Chin,
Made us nightly whole with Scotch.
I leaned into your craft,
Helped you draft, helped deliver
Of a Sunday morn your resume.
Your career lay just down our street.
I leaned into your pilgrimage,
The thousand mile visit
To desert retired parent survivors,
She of polio, he of that Japanese war prison.
I leaned into your little family,
One ******* one puritan, two bound only by only child.
I partook his love of solitude, of Anasazi ruins,
Of her I took her love of wine, of stories, of parties.
I leaned into your friendship,
You into mine,
Long after the marriage broke,
Long after I stole a drunkard’s wife.
I leaned into your childhood
Spent with both governor’s children
And “Uncle” Joe, early Helena dealer of tea,
There amidst your small town happiness.
I leaned into your VW Beetle,
Passenger to your stories of teenage drives
Up snowy hills, down the Gulch past Chinese eateries,
Whorehouses, back-room cards and political deals.
Until
I leaned into your death,
Planned your memorial with your best friend
Ruth who passed me a fat, sealed package
She found hidden in your home.
I leaned into your final words
For me never meant,
Head in hands wept not just tears
But yellowed strewn sheets of secrets,
Letters made lily pads of pain upon
The floor now deep with sorrow.
I leaned into your past…..again,
For one long night I read, I read, for long had
You written him, long had he written you,
GI and high school bride.
I leaned into the toilet bowl
Come morn, tried to ***** up the lies,
Purge myself of purgatory.
All day I tried to tear up
Those written snapshots of every date,
Every tux and gown from prom to wedding,
The apartment rented and
Joyously furnished awaiting his discharge.
I leaned into Ruth’s eyes,
Having said I must see you.
Coffee going cold, I asked
Did you know?
Her surprise genuine,
She said No, not at all, but
Mary Anne did tell me all about the marriage
Just before yours.
(The other marriage of which to me she had never spoken; were there more?)
I leaned into despair
Having ripped crime scene tape
From around your felony invention,
Your carefully crafted past.
I stood over the corpse of all our years,
That life kicked and stomped to death
In a dark back alley of my heart.
Half my life
I leaned into a long con.
Half my life
I leaned into you.
Half my life
You leaned away.
Nov 14, 2025
Nov 14, 2025 at 5:16 AM UTC
I leaned into your lips
That first night, a single kiss
Became more, then more as
You allowed a little tongue.
I leaned into your hair-hidden ear,
Soft words whispered
Until you allowed yourself led
Our first time abed.
I leaned into your body
Of such a promised tall fit.
All those months, all those years
Yet passion never found.
I leaned into your shoulder
In that lounge of constant shade.
Again, again, said Chin Chin,
Made us nightly whole with Scotch.
I leaned into your craft,
Helped you draft, helped deliver
Of a Sunday morn your resume.
Your career lay just down our street.
I leaned into your pilgrimage,
The thousand mile visit
To desert retired parent survivors,
She of polio, he of that Japanese war prison.
I leaned into your little family,
One ******* one puritan, two bound only by only child.
I partook his love of solitude, of Anasazi ruins,
Of her I took her love of wine, of stories, of parties.
I leaned into your friendship,
You into mine,
Long after the marriage broke,
Long after I stole a drunkard’s wife.
I leaned into your childhood
Spent with both governor’s children
And “Uncle” Joe, early Helena dealer of tea,
There amidst your small town happiness.
I leaned into your VW Beetle,
Passenger to your stories of teenage drives
Up snowy hills, down the Gulch past Chinese eateries,
Whorehouses, back-room cards and political deals.
Until
I leaned into your death,
Planned your memorial with your best friend
Ruth who passed me a fat, sealed package
She found hidden in your home.
I leaned into your final words
For me never meant,
Head in hands wept not just tears
But yellowed strewn sheets of secrets,
Letters made lily pads of pain upon
The floor now deep with sorrow.
I leaned into your past…..again,
For one long night I read, I read, for long had
You written him, long had he written you,
GI and high school bride.
I leaned into the toilet bowl
Come morn, tried to ***** up the lies,
Purge myself of purgatory.
All day I tried to tear up
Those written snapshots of every date,
Every tux and gown from prom to wedding,
The apartment rented and
Joyously furnished awaiting his discharge.
I leaned into Ruth’s eyes,
Having said I must see you.
Coffee going cold, I asked
Did you know?
Her surprise genuine,
She said No, not at all, but
Mary Anne did tell me all about the marriage
Just before yours.
(The other marriage of which to me she had never spoken; were there more?)
I leaned into despair
Having ripped crime scene tape
From around your felony invention,
Your carefully crafted past.
I stood over the corpse of all our years,
That life kicked and stomped to death
In a dark back alley of my heart.
Half my life
I leaned into a long con.
Half my life
I leaned into you.
Half my life
You leaned away.
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