deepundergroundpoetry.com
intolerance
my stories are vacuous dreams,
they always begin the same:
‘I am in the shadows watching a beautiful woman;
one day it rained. one two; one two.’
(some women are more beautiful than the dark.
some are prettier in the dark, with more nobility
than the light can show.)
in this story, I am wilful: it fits my harsh mood. you
are there as a decoration, part of the furniture. if I
want to slam my glass on the coffee table, I will. if
I want to pinch your ass, I will pinch it, & you can
pray that it’s all I do. or you can hope that it isn’t.
you’re always turned away from me, as if your eyes
would tell me too much. I can only imagine their
insolence, & their color. I’ve seen you naked, but your
face remains blurred, obscured by a veil of caution.
cautious, because you’re afraid. that’s good.
I ponder your hesitation; it makes me believe that you
are tormented by your own heart. how many men have
said they love you, & how many have you refused? but
there is a pain in the pit of my stomach when I wonder
how many you’ve accepted…
…a love story has a measure of success only if the lovers
embrace in the final line & gaze at the moon. I must cap
my pen because I don’t know where my intolerant dreams
will take me. or if you will be with me.
and the rain obscures my vision…
if I say your name, will you turn?
(Art: Andrew Gnezdilov)
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