Sunday, December 26, 2010
The Price of The Best Kisses
The Christmas we went to New York,
Before you even packed,
You had decided how the whole trip ought to be--
Life was your bonsai tree--
Small and crippled,
Trailing after you like a shadow child;
Product of a rotten womb.
You found me wrapped in darkness,
And decided I was a star--
You say I drove you mad in trying to touch me--
But I think it must be
That you were already that way;
Your very bones stuffed with some sort of sick larvae
That I could never even name,
Let alone have placed there.
The Christmas we spent in New York,
You took a child's delight in the lights--
You will always seem bright and be able to
Find someone who wants to take care of you,
Until you burn them out and scorn the cinders.
It was your kisses, you know,
That made me want to be with you--
Your kisses, like the lights,
Hid the deeper darkness.
You will always be disappointed with what is--
Finding dreams of What Should Be more pretty;
As for me, now as in New York,
It is always
Night in an unfamiliar city.
for One Shoot Sunday
I have never been to New York City. The trip was to a different locale, but I altered it to fit the prompt. The rest is true.
photograph by Adam Dustus