What are you to me, but a blind spot.
Futile concealment in boundary-less wake.
Love on the perimeter.
Interrupted in momentary breakouts:
Cycles through deluge of analysis and self defence.
Wounds spent to early,
Words only spent on fucking.
I spend my days looking for you.
Tread seedy low light pathways,
Wondering if you’ll emerge,
Like an adult rated eternal Pan.
A constant playtime.
I wonder who you’re with and why.
Haunted by the masc-lines of hard bodies,
Easy-touch and heart of your foreign affairs.
It surprises me when I cry.
Tears run from such discrete places,
They soak my face like someone elses.
You were a relentless periscope,
Into concealed inner worlds.
So rough unbeknownst to yourself.
My anger was still there.
Every time you walked away I’d unfold like origami lotus.
Under threat of return, seal up with sharp edges.
From an impartial observatory,
Loose a little bit of my soul,
Every time I saw your heart break.
Paralyzed at love.
In and out.
Hot and cold.
Somewhere in between, I think I loved you.