Penalty Fare
Chairs stare at me, judging,
lights dim in exasperated gloom;
They saw this coming, right?
Told the borders of the room
to shrink around us tonight.
To shoot disillusions.
Ceiling somehow mirrors
the sting from your love bite.
Each thrust a thrill, a terror
A ‘what if he comes in?’
Wine glass stained with bitter
consequences of the rush
of how and if and when
and oh my god it feels so right.
I flush those images away and rinse
the right from wrong.
Would have been elated if
This would have happened then.
Before the penalty was ruling
over our performance tonight.
Your kiss a magnitude of what
I hate about myself; those arms,
branches from a golden trees,
those hips, those pebble looks,
those clay-like violent thrusts.
Those grips as if I’m melting fast,
those lips as if I’m precious air,
those stares as if I’m made of glass.
Won’t you shatter me tonight?
Because then I won’t have to.
Wrong but right, for centuries
we face this predicament
but do not know the grasp
until it’s propelling us
into a world we cannot cope with.
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