Only the grass knows
where the first flake
falls
till the wind
shutters it
off its shoulders
to lie
upon the ground.
Another
and another
till it all adds up
and we’re buried again.
So why
do your white lies
fall so deftly
that I brush them off
another
and another
till it all adds up
and we’re buried again?
Only your ass knows.
In the tic
when his body
seized,
his pocket watch
fell
shattering
the spinning lies
he covered
now abruptly
vulnerable.
Regardless
of how his hands
flailed,
he was unable
to remember
his metronome
of good
or bad.
A shard
of himself
as he
clocked out.
We have woven a perfect fit,
a cuddly blanket of us,
but you are messing around
with stuff you don’t know
anything about.
You want to change
just one tiny thing,
but don’t.
Tied to something else,
like a sweater thread,
it will all unravel.
I’ve strung you along
with a list of lies
and you can’t pull out
the first one,
or we will
fall
apart.
I am exhausted,
my nerves frazzled and frayed.
Every woman desires
the kind of summer
that blushes in heat
where mothers glance
away from shock
clutching their pearls
with a string of woes.
But hell be damned
you went to bed
that summer night
with warnings and jewelry
away on the shelf
clutching him tightly
where men would moan.
Every woman deserves
the kind of memory
that lingers with time
allowing elderly smiles
to remember the past
away from today
clutching their loves,
not a string of lies.