And so we stand here naked and vulnerable,
Age revealing its twisted truth;
A new breed of dismal innocence,
To the flower of my teasing youth.
Am I but a broken vessel?
My fruit long ripened, far from the tree.
A blaze of glory now long subdued,
A whisper of a memory.
Awkward and exposed in our bed,
I endure your fumbling, guilty touch.
Confessing to my aching flesh,
Too little feeling… or too much?
What else to do, but again recite
That old, weak and dusty cliché.
An involuntary reflex it spills from my lips,
For lack of anything else to say.
I know it cannot go on forever,
Merely three words to stifle the pain.
But you are all I have left my darling,
So lets live the lie once again.
Copyright © Phillip Landers