Now and forever

I guess I’ll have to take that vacation without you,
I booked it anyway, and I know you don’t like it, but
too many cigarettes, crimson eyes, a white rust throat,
rejection letters, acidly lyrical, the words enveloping, engulfing,
overrunning, overwhelming, melting each syllable of skin
that makes me did me in, I can’t say I haven’t done the same,
and I can’t deny that I want to write the theoreticians a ten page
poetic essay, flames goose-stepping, burning both
the objective and subjective, which is what they’re
all about anyway, but then I’ll become a post-millennial
Fruprock, a simulacrum of a man, measuring out his
life in abstract canvases or strip-tease wars, and it’s not
worth it, and so, as you look sideways, I want to look ahead,
fake-pretend nonchalance, false-mute passion, feign-face
that black screen reality that waits, but isn’t here yet, but
echoes of heartbeats, or heartbeats creating echoes,
make me look back, pull you closer,
though your hair’s a mess today,
but I like that odd cascade, and what’s unsaid,
I write here, slowly, steadily, building it up,
before it thunders, I’ve always had a penchant for that,
I guess we want more, but strangely find hope in
dysfunctional, deconstructed, disfigured moments,
and when I dissipate, disappear in those wintry peaks,
fade, when fate derails or saves me, I want you to move
on, never reaching for a sonnet that I wrote you,
hoping you’ll breathe me in, because you won’t,
never searching for hope between lines,
because that kills people, but then and now
don’t collide, and you can reach out for
maybe more than I’ve given you, and this time,
I’ll lovingly-lovably-lovefully-reach back, because
moments don’t tick-tock-tick-tock
and glances remembered strangely destroy
the walls that hold us, and I don’t need to tell
you the now clichéd three word point-and-click
or click-and-point, because what constructs
those screens point to a different horizon,
and you and I know that stays.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2017)

Protected by Copyscape

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