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Poem
‘tap, tap, tap’

your petite knuckles
gently attacking my door -
I envision their French-painted nails
dancing in the shine of
the hallway light
like a row of bishops bowing to the Pope
(your sensual sacrilege)
I don’t make a sound
though my eye is to the peephole -
watching you for signs of obvious despair …
or … SOMEthing … anything …
a rill of tears amassing on my
chin and echoing your knock with
a near-silent ‘drip, drip, drip’
on the floor …

you …
a bit louder - ‘rap, rap, rap’
I’m a statue …
“Come on, Babe … it’s Me-ee!”, you declare
ending with that sing-songy tag of
your favorite personal pronoun
(that I’ve finally had too much of)
I roll my eyes for my own sake
still watching through the
peeper as you fidget and toss your
platinum extensions
your face, dry as a bone
though we both know our time has come …
briny beads still leaving my chin and
plopping to the hardwood in
mocking rhythm …
‘drip, drip, drip’

your last try, with force -
‘bang, bang, bang!’
I don’t move an ounce of
muscle or marrow …
knowing I’m there and have been
you reach out and cover the
peephole with your pretty little thumb
“PLEASE, Babe, just a goodbye kiss?”
ahhh - and there’s the rub - we
BOTH know where that little
parting gift would lead …
to FAR more than just one -
far more than only a kiss -
and far more torturous a farewell
than either of us can deal
with successfully …
so …

nope … no WAY
as much as my entire being
ACHES to feel your mouth pressing mine -
your sugary tongue dancing on my lips -
it’s the one thing that
would ensure more pain for us both
and I MUST not relent …
you remove your thumb purposefully
framing your face under
the hall light so I can see your
now weep-soaked cheeks …
the ceiling lamp directly behind
your head gives the distinct
impression of an angel with halo a-glow
and you stand there silently for
what seems an hour
(though I know it’s but a moment)
tears and mascara turning your face to
a sad, desperate clown …
you reach up to knock one last time
but stop your hand an inch
away from my door
pull it back to your mouth
and tenderly blow me a kiss …
you wait one more
moment for some sign from me
but I am stone - silent, cold
sending my last carefully careless message
my own face now dry …

finally …
you walk away, slowly
your head hung in sorrowful realization
five-inch Blahniks clop-clopping
down the long entryway hall
sound fading tenderly …
(like the passion we once knew)
I wait …
“I love you … so much”
I say when you’re too distant to hear …
‘you’ve always been too distant to
hear’, I think to myself
and it brings a sad smile of irony …
I reach into my pocket and
pull a handkerchief out, kneeling
wipe my tears from
the polished wooden floor
and toss it to the trash
for they’re certainly NOT …

worth keeping.
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