In my head, there is a sofa
On which we sit, Carpenters
On the stereo, your head
On my shoulder, my arm
Around you like a snake.

Perhaps, for all my gushing
Openness, I have been dishonest
After all. Perhaps there was
More to tell than I was
Brave enough to form into
Actual words, actual thoughts.

Love and lust are easy
To confuse, before, during,
And after the fact. I am
Thankful neither was able
To extract its terrible price
From us in the end.

Still, it was you I came
Looking for, I think, and
It was you I found as lost
As I was, hiding from the world
And all its terrible wonders.

Had we been less distant,
Would we have become
Too close? Had we become
One, could we ever
Have been separate again?

01/03/2020

Posted on 01/29/2020
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