His book replaces my book
on her bed sheets over night,
as if we are both
disposable
even though I know he's not
while I might be.
She is like a heavy safe with a lock
so complicated it
would take
a life time of
patience to come up
with the combination needed
to open her up and
still I wouldn't know
if she is the person
I think she is
or merely a figment of my imagination
so I wonder if his book gives
him better insight than mine does me,
his fingers are
gentle and sensitive enough
to feel each tumbler fall into place
as he seeks to get at the real person locked inside,
his tenderness taking
over
where my insensitive fingers have failed,
he lying beside her and his book
on that bed at night,
a welcome guest who can't stay till morning
any more than I could.
No comments:
Post a Comment