Wet Breath

I let the hot water run,
and I free angry tears while the room is still cold
Soon enough, I am numb and sweating
This space grows foggy and hot
The condensation on the mirror hides my reflection,
but it reveals the impression of hands as it mounts
Suddenly I am no longer unfeeling
It seems, no matter how hard I try,
that I simply cannot hide the ugly truth of us
My eyes go about filtering the images of this world,
all in hopes of finding you among them
This, I am tired of denying
Crying again, for there you are
Those were your hands, messily thrown against the glass
I still feel the soft grind of your pelvis;
your toes curling against the wall behind us
My fingers, full of your black hair,
and grazing your noisy lips with their tips
Your chest pitching up against mine,
and your words of sexy nonsense
My fist cracks the glass
My screams feel like muted flames
Ten years to the day that I first felt your touch
Well enough, we never left it alone
This weak creature goes back for more,
every single chance it is given
Love never felt so dirty, yet capable
of being the most spotless example
of something innocent; something stolen
What we are is programmed
to fight for what we were
(what we were denied, I mean to say)
As a ball of boxers and tees,
my knuckles pointlessly bleed out
what my heart cannot give you;
what only grows back within these veins
I will sleep far too well once I dry my eyes
I will put on a suit and an easy smile
I will keep you in a corner of my mind
until you are, once again,
shining lonely and bright
in the center of a random room
And only then will I acknowledge
that this finish line merely restarts a race
which we won’t admit to running
For it is only in each other’s arms
that truth exists for lovers like us

Poetry from POETiCA by Shane Windham
E-book and paperback now on Amazon.com

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