deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Couple

‘This world demands our submission,
it never asks for our attack.
Think back… You have only ever been asked
to submit. You may have said no,
but that wasn’t part of the question.’

Few things are astonishing…
It may be a moment of innocence
or vulnerability that makes them seem that way,
but after a while
all events join the grey.
There is, however, one:

The way the couple chooses
its counterparts for the purposes of joy,
love, sex and laughter.
Two minds meet,
begin to merge
and loneliness nods off in the spare room.
This, of course, is not where my astonishment lies.

My consternation arrives
when the ceiling shakes
with the sound of bodies
being forced off their balance.
When the once quiet voice
becomes shrill and impertinent,
screaming ‘fuck you’ repeatedly
at the silent partner.

I marvel as the situation is flipped
on its unthinking head.
The banshee falls silent
and on her way down
her descent is broken by desperate sobs.
The previously silent partner
regains his balance;
using her jerky breathing as an opportunity
to bury her lower,
he begins the onslaught.

If there was only as much stamina
in their love making.

They are consistent for an hour or so
before exhaustion sets in.
Their dreams act like accomplices
holding one another back
whilst spitting venom in to the ear
of the other.

Then, with the first ray of sunlight,
the closing of the car door and the starting of its motor,
the first hammer on the building site,
the uncomfortable baby in the pram ,
they are awake.

God hits the pause button
so that the ceiling can shake again
with the sound of their bodies being
forced off balance,
in to walls.
Their mouths reopen,
wider this time,
exuding more unsound spite
in to each other.

I lie awake after four hours sleep
-the same thing that kept me awake,
awakes me.
I hear all of this,
smiling as they bounce off the walls.
In the grand scheme of things,
they met only moments ago,
ecstatic with the escape
they found in each other.

Their lives were infused
with seldom experienced calm
and happiness,
previously denied from them.

Now look at them;
verbose examples
of how impossible love is made.
The simple presence of someone
is not enough.
     
The constant need for a sense of immortality,
the constant need for submission,
the need to be heard…
All of these bullshit needs
that dance our true partners off the floor.

If I possessed the compassion,
I would stop them
and insist that they remember
what their lives were like
before each other.
The mindless drunks, drugs and
sordid cries for help.
I would make sure they remember all of it
just before they found each other’s eyes,
whispering apologies.

I could do that,
but the sickness in some people
is too much for love.
Written by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
Published
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