Would you look at me?
It's already too late and we both know it.
Your fingers tangle in my hair and think of salt and sea weed,
A faraway ocean cold and colorless.
You trace the bumps and sharp edged rounds of my spine
A sea anemone made of jelly and stringy dangling left overs.
I never wanted to disappoint.
Somehow you wanted this but slightly different.
So we become this sort of accidental lovers,
Now muted down of any loneliness.
We tire of each others company and bore
Each other with talk,
So neither of us speaks.
Our love making becomes the scene of a crime,
Brutal and violent.
We avoid each others eyes after,
As if each of us knows. . .
But chooses to let our innocence hang
By the thin threads of denial and silence.
And we insinuate into our lives the half hearted attempt
That there are others . . .
But we both know it's only checking the pulse
So we ignore and glance over,
We forgive what never originally offended.
And we do only enough of whats expected to get by.
We make repetitions of patterns that lost meaning
A thousand days ago
But monotony and monogamy is harder to break
Then the disturbance at the thought of sudden change.
"What do we do, dear?"
I will say,
And you will reply with a murmur in your sleep
Which will mean anything a want it to at the moment
Because the noise keeps me up at night
And I haven't the heart or effort to tell you.