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Poem: Under The Eyes of That Which I Love.

June 19, 2012
tags: ,

You’ll understand the love within my lust
and the lust within my love.

But my mind is small and damp,
and it drips into a gutter not far below.
And you? At worst, you play the Vamp, the Femme Fatale,
just another portrait in the gallery at home
in your mind.

I am fortunate to see no Gods looking on to judge.
But all the same, I feel the shame under the eyes of that which I love.

Can you understand my want to sink my teeth?
If I am gentle, it is just for you.
Can you understand the soothing feeling that lies deep
within this lust for you?

Forget you not The Vine.
Wager not upon recession of the Rot,
for these are mine and mind.

It is not all so black and
I should remind you there is more;
lighter things can lie
behind the blackest door.

But with that, I must tell you
of two strange cases:
A man in a mask and one with two faces.

They tell of things I’ve tried so hard to hide
because they’re like holes in my heart;
that I like such things, so dark,
suggests a sordid mind.

I am fortunate to see no Gods looking on to judge.
But all the same, I feel the shame under the eyes of that which I love.

That is, you.
You who are so good
as to say sweet things and then wonder if you should.

I am just a man
and men are weak.
We too often think that which we dare not, perhaps should not, speak.

I dare not dream at night any longer,
for my dream, my mind, does you dishonour.

I am just flesh, blood and bones;
I know where they would feel most at home.

I confess, I profess, I want to live inside you
and soothe my sorry mind.

And what does that suggest,
if not a sorry soul?

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