Tear Tracks

is that all I am to you … a tear on your cheek?? a (not-very-attractive) streak in your Clé de Peau concealer? a haggard line from eye-to-chin that now spells my doom … that drips to stain the only white Armani dress shirt I own that you didn’t wear to bed … buttons be damned each time I removed one from your giggling form … chartreuse toenails wriggling amongst the percale tangle that we swam together, your pelt like cappuccino against the bleach-white cotton beneath you, and I the lucky barista to devour that luscious, foamy concoction … YOU … a dream of memories is all that is now - I can’t help but remember those briny pearls let loose … each time our love was spent, your weep would begin, oh, but happy those tears - a release of emotion that I’d never seen in another, a christening of passion that fooled me into believing they were a covenant - a payment so precious that I never questioned forever - never dreamed of betrayal or finality, yet, here we are, from those beloved tears to this ugly pattern on your face … a tiny rill to wash me away, and you act like it’s stigmata from the Mother Mary herself, as if I should be on my knees in gratitude for your salty little drop of pity … well, not until your eyes weep blood, my dear … no, not until then.