When will I learn my lesson?
Sometimes they’re not so quick to learn.
Still, we take turns,
myself and I,
to turn blind eyes,
smile with hard cheeks,
and be awash with mystery.
Beneath the wall it’s hiding:
comes out to play, this misery.
I never fail – precisely when
I’ve struck the lens on gold
just then –
to surprise myself,
or
is it that I never fail
to not surprise myself?
I bore myself.
I’m fucking bored of climbing miles;
I’d swim the Nile to get back here.
I swear,
I fucking despair.
But round and round in circles
I go
until the road is paved.
I know
the centre shaves the edge off,
and I fall in upon myself.
It’s all I’ve known
to act this way –
habit dictates no difference.
It’s difference that will make me change.
It’s them I blame –
they’re all the same.
Can someone show me difference?
I need you to be different.

You’re clever with the way that you touch me
and make my thighs tingle with words.
Your footing on the doorstep to this feeling
lets me know that you don’t waste your verve.
It’s not that I’d call you “professional,”
and I don’t see your moves as rehearsed;
it’s just that I trust what I’m sensing:
that something about you just works.

“Play around with me, then.”
I’m asking you to,
so
just
do.

And the reason I’d call this thing playing
is cause simple is fun when its true.

Oh,
how you have made me pure again.
Restored.
Restored.
Restored.

So, fuck the fucking scorecard.
Games like this, they don’t get me too bored.

Voiceless;
but, somewhere,
screams, like a night-car,
lust for ears.
Like a fallen tree,
be back inside,
diaphragmic cluster.
Oh, the words I could not muster:
“You hurt me,
so I came at you
like thunder.”

No,
the birds have not stopped singing;
someone shut the window, though.

No,
the sunlight did not die;
you closed your eyes instead.

No,
that envelope, unopened,
was not yours ever to close.

And, no,
that heartbeat sound you hear
is not your lover’s breath.

“̶I̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶l̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶l̶o̶n̶e̶l̶y̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶d̶i̶e̶,̶”̶
s̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶i̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶p̶e̶b̶b̶l̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶p̶i̶n̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶k̶y̶,̶
a̶s̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶t̶c̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶f̶l̶y̶f̶l̶y̶f̶l̶y̶ ̶a̶w̶a̶y̶.̶

“Ay! No more,”
she said,
“of this astigmatic mind.”

All a-blur
and all awry
and worse than seeing with The Eye.

The Eye
don’t lie,
but minds like lies.