Spent Metaphors

I built you fragile metaphors in spent lighters and unfinished slow dances in coffee shops.

You built a dollhouse around your heart with grit on the walls to keep me from stealing you away from him.

Like you wanted me to. Like I wanted me to.
But I’m too nice and you love too deeply to let me go.

So we sit in diners and laugh,
Ignoring the tension for our genuine joy at being reunited after too long a hiatus.

Restructuring sparks in parking lot with only the magnificent moon for a witness as you tried to tell me your flaws but I only came up with fallacies and my own shortcomings, knowing there’s no such thing as perfection, but damn if you aren’t something near it.

And somewhere in this stew of insecurities you see who I could be, and you love me despite that I’m hovering somewhere beneath my potential:
Afraid of failing, or worse, succeeding,
Afraid of being just another guy being lead by his loins,
Afraid of hurting and of being hurt.

But we fell in love despite the fact that we don’t belong together, and we peel back the scabs when they’re just beginning to heal,
Too curious or familiar with the pain to let it go,
Craving scars that exclaim what shouldn’t have happened so that maybe in the daylight they’ll just look like skin.

Somewhere in my altruism I am seeking your affection,
Our hugs barely hiding a longing for more –
Stolen kisses like in a submarine sinking and we each want the other to have the last breath,
Hands and fingers and their tips extolling the goosebumps that prickle as I touch tenderly your waist, shivers from tickles you thought you were immune to.

You built a dollhouse for others to play in;
Built for demolition, china in a bull shop,
I tore it down and you thanked me for it.

Not because you weren’t sorry to see it go, but because you saw what it could be,
Fostered in imagination to take a life of its own.

You built me metaphors in dead lighters resurrected by moonlight, slow-dancing in parking lots without a note being played, and I thanked you for it.

Not because I wasn’t sorry to see you go, but because I saw what we could be:
Fostered in imagination it took a life all its own.


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