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Jaime Billiel Poem
Hoping everyday there will be a vicissitude in your thinking.
Irritation and repose.
Waiting.
For a text, a call, reticence.
White space on paper.
Empty.
I drank your wine.
I reveled in your game.
Laid nude and bent over your couch while you created rudiment on the floor beside my foot.
Vessel.
Held my breath, eyes shut while you finished yourself.
Watched you cook steak on the grill.
Men get hungry or sleep, you were hungry and I have told you;
I don’t eat red meat.
You tell me to retire myself from cooking because our duties are equalized though our genders are not.
I ate the steak.
Copious house, sizeable paycheck, exiguous man.
Microbic consort.
Missed appointments.
“You should have reminded me….” you say
But I know anything important is worth remembering or writing down.
I am sullen.
In life I am compensated to remind men of various appointments.
“Could you jot this down…….remind me on this date….”
Though it’s not my berth, my disposition to succor puts me in this bearing, and in my own dash, I don’t find gravity to prompt a man that we have a reservation once every few weeks outside his couch.
I won't ask again for what I demand in whole; time, allotment, an epoch.
Time spent unbent over leather couches in precarious manners, minds soused with wine.
I am letting you go.
I am detestable, inconsequential.
You are pulchritudinous and astute.
White space on paper.
Someone is waiting to write me a poem.
Copyright © Jaime Billiel | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Jaime Billiel Poem
What “ matters” matter?
the why of things, the how?
If I spoke in an enlightened manner,
would you be convinced of my meaning?
Women cry out like children,
Stomping feet.
Misunderstood.
Belly dancing around issues.
Men stand stoic, offering the smile, a grain of stock.
Women die inside for this look.
Approval, conscript.
The moon causes a lunar reaction on the surface of the ocean.
Creating movement of water so vast;
it destroys a population.
Reset. Noah's Ark.
If lunar is to the Moon,
as waves are to the ocean,
How do two items suffering such distance quarrel to draw each other close?
Correlation.
We dance
We dance
We dance.
Never loving and loving only the act.
Spreading pathosis.
Nestling each other in the night.
Distilling tears on pillow cases that smell unsoiled.
Familial divisions, obscured children, betrayals.
Drawing close like lovers, absent the love.
Vulnerable, unavailable.
It was said by a wise man that all brave individuals
Have enemies.
Those with minimal ego offend.
Smug.
Are we brave or smug?
Divested with strangers we cry in the night,
Choosing to walk the week alone.
Friday night lights.
“Independent” is a buzzword.
An improper sort of adjective because I need and want you all at once,
One no more than the other.
Women love like water while men lay beside us,
Watching us sleep,
Immersed in the universe.
Capable and incapable.
Copyright © Jaime Billiel | Year Posted 2016
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