We have clothed ourselves in cloaks of cleverness
And we strut about preening and glittering with wit.
Stopped long enough to attract each other
Admired our credentials embellishing our already brilliant personae
And tried to love.
Which means taking the cloaks off.
Underneath -
Two deadly assassins of love, our internal observers
Analysing, assessing, covering like leprous leotards,
like clinging lycra,
like camouflage
As we search for gaps in each other's defences
And stop up the chinks in our own.
Shooting down emotions with logic
And the future, our future, with reason and hellish realism.
Just sometimes, not often but sometimes,
I've felt that we've managed true nakedness.
Thrown off all the fabricated material and intellectual crap.
The Emperor and Empress have discarded their peacock clothes,
Lying together mutually limbed and comfortable,
Allowing the simple truthful words out:
Please love me but don't trap me.
I need you. I want you. I love you.
Therefore I am vulnerable.
Don't hurt me.
Love me massively but not blindly.
Don't be my slave.
Don't be hurt by me.
I fear both betrayal and boredom.
Let us not destroy each other,
Though let us have the power to do so.
Let's put everything into it.
Let's show and be the real us.
Let's do it.
Please be as I have dreamed.
Please stay.
Getting to where love needs to be,
To that basic kernel of all human love -
Dumb holding and hoping.
Dumb holding and hoping.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment