What I told you

I can remember the low orange glow
of lamplight lost in the high cielings
of my first apartment in this city
casting the shadow of your profile

on the wall when I told you
my poems are all fiction, and none
would really be about you. I told
you you might recognize gestures,
movements, but these have been
ripped out of life at the seems

and transplanted into a world
full of deer and queen anne’s lace
that I write in blue lined notebooks.
But I never told you this, even after
you moved with me into that low

ceilinged loft across from the drug dealers
and families with dirt for front yards
and children wearing only diapers playing
in the street. I never told you that that
blue lined world is my world, and you became

a part of it the moment you slipped your hands
down my body, the moment you locked an arm
around my body while I was sleeping. I never told
you that since then, every word has been for you.


Filed under lust and love, Musings, poetry, The muse

5 responses to “What I told you

  1. Sad — in a good way — but also sweet. I love the ending.
    A well crafted piece 🙂

  2. Wonderful — I love the play of untruth and truth, what’s expressed and what can’t be said. You’re so good at structure.

  3. very nice! the last two lines are so sweet.

  4. LK

    As every word has been for you, my love.

  5. There is a flow of smooth silk and the comfort of an evening breeze in this piece !

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