skinny

i know what he tells my friends,

refreshing all the rumors at the mill.

i am here for one thing,

or three:

captivated, infatuated, in a limerence.

how long until he leaves again?

cause it's never soon enough.

but why did i open that door again?

why did i let him back in?

the art of assuming the sale;

insolent, ignorant, in my bed,

avoiding the intimates -

skillful dodgery of the artful detective.

some things are meant to be taken seriously.

he may hate me all he wants,

if he does it with self-restraint,

from a distance.

just don't make me pretend it is anything

which it isn't.

i told him

he didn't know

what he was getting into,

but here i am in his limbo line,

chasing those lows,

post-modern jack and jill

to roll them up an eternal hill -

me and Sisyphus.

attachment, thick with trauma;

skinny, in the limits.

it isn't resignation to compromise,

but the implications

of massive, sudden, universal fuckery and shifting.

a glass roof

to become the next end's beginning

the floor where whe stand our ground.

a platform of understanding

and uncomfortable conversations -

it is the only way.

i know because i have exhausted

all other alternatives.

there are no questions i have left to answer.

but no matter

how i tell him, he won't hear me

unless it is

in his best interest, benefits, or gains.

but i love him

either way,

and i know:

it will be the death of me.