Not Tonight, I Swear, I Promise...Not Next To Him.
He's not...
that discordant surreal Sunday,
he's not that memory, he's not these crooked tears
and I swear, I promise
I'm not...
broken, on the floor, shards of me reflecting
him.
I'd turn around and pick this up, everything that's collected underneath me, torn up
scraps of love notes and the remains of
February
I'd be desperate if I found that to be attractive and piece together the scrawled
frightened letters that destructed proclamations, that whispered promises, broken by the
screaming of
hope.
We'll be someone, somewhere...
I swear, I promise
he'll find me somewhere, even if it's just my name...
scrawled out in despair by lonely, desperate hands that couldn't see me on the border of
life that existed on a dirty, fingerprint~decorated wall.
I know we're afraid of losing beauty and I drop to my knees~bruised as they are~I wince in
pain and cover my arms~
skinny as they are~
and pray the years are kind, pray these tears won't ruin me in the filth of stained
pillows that refuse to forget...
that Sunday night...
that refuse to allow me to sleep alone.
He's not...
cruel but he's
crooked
and I straighten him out with the silence of my name, holding him, folded, in my arms~
bruised as they may be~
as his legs intertwine around my knees, knobby, skinny, and far too tired...
but I'm not...
broken, I swear, I promise...
not tonight~
anyway~
not next to him.
Copyright © Jeanmarie Marchese | Year Posted 2008
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