Hug

I dream my life dreaming of regret,

Striving to remember, longing to forget.

I am a shadow living on the other side of sixty-three,

Tellling him everything, my soul at rest and free.

"I long for one true sentence,"

She breathed into me

But who am I--on one knee in confession--

To contest her, full of unrequited lust inside of me.

There she was one Friday night for one long minute

Or perhaps it was, at her accusation, ten long years of marital bliss.

It's fucking hard to remember when I'm sixty-four.

She said this moment was made only for this and she gave me one quick kiss.

Jesus said gift your life of wealth.

Jesus simply said to Simon I give your soul to Satan for sifting.

On Friday, I gifted the object of my lust one last hug as the clouds were misting--

I gave myself to her finally when I became myself.

Seems to me, she said to me as she broke the hug, that you are only a compromise.

And you, I said in response (as she finally settles for me), must truly do your penance--

Not true, she countered, for in your bed lie stacks and stacks of lies--

And--with that--she finally she gave me one true sentence.