You seep down deep into me like sweet heroin rain into my liquored up brain, like a soft smooth rock of cocaine skipping across daytime remains, burning white hot and heavier than the black smoke of a midnight train. Only heat and I know the extent and depth of your bone chilling rain.
I find myself amazed by the way your afternoon gaze nestles down on your face. How I become mesmerize just watching that spectacular view called you. You haven’t a clue your my drug of choice, still I must remind myself how many times love been written, how many ways I can say I love you? It really doesn’t matter it never has. The inner tide of your soul rows away and recedes with my fleeting heart never allowing it to return to me, the owner; it can only drift along like a soft piece of pine stranded in an ocean current with no direction or meaningful way of returning to its lush forest where wooden hearts are born and must learn to float.
I’ve become that piece of wet driftwood. Even in those few moments where your heart can’t escape the reality of love, your tears begin to fall like a frightened waterfall ending its life. Jumping down the cliff and lying flat on some dry and thirsty ground without any hope of creating or nourishing growth. You choose to replace tears with the grit of the sand rubbing every lover you’ve ever had the wrong way, across the grain of their hearts.
The ultimatum you issue feels like it’s been cast stone or wrought iron steel. Not one smooth edge on it only sharp ones. I must swallow my pride and wallow in this epic nightmare scenario of yours causing my heart to wash over the banks of hope and drowning any chance of cleansing itself after being stomped by your dirty shoes . If a heart like mine is only good for one such love, why can’t pain learn to hide away from this punishment of yours? Why do you return to me like déjà vu? I’m stuck here on this cold moonscape, it’s not earth, it’s not home, and it’s not even me anymore. Like heroin I can’t kick you no matter how many times you kick me. The love I display for you deserves return but you refuse to unbind your crippled heart. You say to me you like it this way, then you say it will add to the dismal shades of my moonscape park, what does this even mean I ask; here I’ll show you and you turn off the lights and settle down on my body like a warm orange sunset causing me to rise to the highest place on earth, then you get up leaving me all alone and ever so cold and distant on some pretend planet of yours.
During love making you make me promise you what were doing is not real; you make me promise I won’t fall in love with you during the most glorious sex I ever known; you make me apologize when little warm words slip out of my swollen lips, you make me put my guard down in my heart so you can get a clean cut on it, you make me want to be in love with anyone else. I promise you everything you want to hear even though we both know I’m lying. No heart could defend itself against your ravishing mouth or those poor begging puppy dog eyes, I have to promise you against my will, what other choice is there. The alternative is to lay in the dark alone, reminiscing how sweet and warm and fresh your breath is. I begin to understand the cold moonscape comment as your vapors of loves begin escaping from the curtain and through the walls just before the dawn cries out enough. The scent of you leaves the room along with your perfume and hairbrush and any decency I may have hidden from you. As your dressing you pretending your making some type of prison break while telling me you’ll come back for me one day. And so I lay there knowing that empty feeling will soon be returning instead of you. I pray after your pretend prison break that the jury returns their verdict of love finding me guilty convicting me. Sentencing me to a lifetime of intimacy with someone else who also has a cut heart, how do you plead the judge will ask? And I will simply reply; mostly on my knees your honor, mostly on my knees.