(another) Poem

His lips speak the rhythms of origami
words, crisp and unsettlingly perfect
in form. They hang over my heart
like the shadows of mountains looming
heavy over my chest driving in the dead
of night. I coarse over those dead curve
roads in the night on my way to those
orchid lips—his lips swollen with
the passion of fresh unadultered love,
not yet tainted by the resentment
of commitment.
In my dreams that lasts forever
and I hang onto the punch drunk
love words and praise them like sacrament
until the day my heart dies—but that
could be tomorrow. That my ability
to love atrophies like every trust
I’ve ever granted, reached out in dust,
offered to the underserving in gilded
plates filled with everlasting sentiment
that rots in piles by basement doors.
It can last forever though, right?

20 February 2013

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