I’m going to be in love tonight
under this hidden moon
in this welcome season
as this house creaks like
seventy year old bones,
as murders grow in awful hands,
as no one sets foot on
this same carpet.
I’m going to kiss warm lips tonight
of a living man
who breathes cold opinion
and holds me in his eyes,
who clears distance from hollow
who says nothing,
who lays unknowingly, tonight, beside me
with no one around to overhear us.
I am going to make love tonight
to a suspect of betrayal,
to my heart’s gravity,
to a memory that has been
soaking in the fall.
Listen. It is perfectly safe.
No one is near. It has been years
since I fell asleep with
my skin underneath him, falling,
falling in to some
confession, and tonight
I will not hear a sliver of his voice
and he will not know
that tonight’s moon will
cover up his absence,
Posted on February 10, 2013, in Poetry and tagged being alone, connection, Desire, distance, emptiness, intimacy, keeping distance, Literature, love, memory, missing someone, Moon, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Sex, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 22 Comments.