Her
I know I am not the first
To lay beside you,
Possibly not even the first
To write about it.
I know, full well, my role
Has been played before,
And I see that she has left
Her autograph on your skin.
You always try to hide it.
Always ripping out pages
From the history books,
Always blacking out lines in the scripts.
Yes, I know I ask too many questions
Maybe, that's why I write poems.
I crave the taste of your
Honey soaked answers.
You see, my love, curiosity
Is my fatal flaw.
Now tell me,
What was hers?
I lay in this bed beside you
In the chalk outline she left for me,
Rigorously rehearsing tomorrow's
Lines in my head.
We are light years apart
And in the taunting space
Between our bodies,
Bundles of galaxies thrive.
My love, won't you tell
Me a bedtime story?
May I request the tragedy
Of Romeo and Juliet?
I wonder, does she think
Of me as much as
I think of her?
I eat my jealousy.
And, why do I think of her
When I should think of you?
My gentle lover, who has never
Given cause for my obsession.
I suppose, it's because
She's a part of you,
Whether either of us likes it or not
And I want to love every part of you.
Come, my love, let us
Close this ridiculous space.
No more stories for tonight.
Let us turn off the light.
In the final act,
You look at me
And I catch a glimpse of the universe
In your green eyes.
