Sunday, April 27, 2014

From the Notebook of J Michel

The Architect
That night was perfect;
still cold (it was only April)
but clear despite the lights that obscured the stars.
I was feeling reckless -the last night of holiday and such;
but then you seemed like you belonged where you were
and so I let you take me along.
No one was home when we arrived
but the little pairs of shoes at the door
(I asked you where she was. You said she’s in Florida).
Your bed was big, empty, and wide enough
to accommodate both our bodies along
with the ghost that perpetually resides.
When you put your arms around me I was happy.
Your hands were so loving, and told me everything
your mouth would not say.
I told you the things I wanted you to know,
but I’m sure my eyes gave me away.
The night was so hushed I almost forgot
where I was, where I’d come from, where I had to go next
and when you asked me about God
I saw her in you.
You’d put such faith in your denial, I could tell;
it made me wonder if you’d remember me.
When we kissed I was happy,
and when you told me I was the only one I believed you.
But my love, I left you unsatisfied even as
I knew we’d never see each other again.
True, in the soft hours of the morning, 
as we became entangled in each other,
I loved you. For a moment I hoped.
But that is seldom the goal of happenstance like this.
What I couldn’t tell you that night:
that you, my love, the architect,
are the builder of the walls around you.

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