Saturday, April 21, 2012

The Stranger

We lunched in my quiet kitchen 
I moved my chair closer to yours, 
at the corner by the back door 
a casual moment, almost normal 
I rubbed the fingers that touched my skin in earnest joy
moments before, I study the familiar shape, 
the cuts, with warmth they charm me – 
hold them, feel them while I still can
but the man who allows it is a kind of a blank. 
I watched you naked above me
your face on an inward bound course reveal: 
for all intents and purposes, but one, the man’s a stranger.
you curled around me, oh the joy,
I held on like you’re the only one, right here right now,
and when you go I wonder why you came, 
or why you stayed for lunch, why you will be back another time.
There is an answer, in the basement of my thoughts
where I don’t go to look, the smell is quite unpleasant there. 
not unlike in those L. Cohen songs I loved to hear 
when I was young they gave my heart strings a sweet tug, 
and you – you did that too when I was not yet old.
the curl in my soul is almost lost, 
like a healed muscle pulled in error
when I wanted to be graceful, 
I know where it is, you leave a trace,
though you aim to be that stranger.

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