June 7, 2009
By Anonymous

Who were you thinking of?
when you knocked on my door late last night
with that half-drunk silly grin I so covet
For sake of our ghosts long buried
under the lone tufts of grass who watch home

Did he kiss you goodnight on the porch at home?
I hear his whispers of devotions and love
But can he hear your silent cry long buried
deep within your soul, consumed by darkest night
He cannot see fire smoldering beneath your heavy lids, you
who I know so well, whose mind and body I dare not covet.

Every day an ugly face becomes me as a new one will covet
your darling ways, your charming laugh, your embracing home
Every minute he falls deeper into a slippery trap you
lay more cleverly each time for men whom your sting of
vindictive animosity will poison with black night.
Leave him to nurse a bottle of Jack, wishing you'd be long buried.

Even as I watch broken souls I feel stirrings long buried
Butterflies flutter up my throat. I fight to forget what I covet
you do not belong. to. me. Wind rushes into forgiving night
I fall under its depths ever more quickly, helpless arms stretching for home
I drown under self-hate. I struggle to break from concrete weights of
hidden rage at weakness. envy. loss. you.

Cruel fate mocks these tears and sends me you
weeping in moments of hopelessness as guilt long buried
threatens to overwhelm your reason for living. Empty love
forces your hand while deep within you long to covet
the very reality you avoid in fear of losing home,
that safe haven you return to alone at night.

What can I do but stroke your hair every night?
Knowing, certain as time, tomorrow I will watch you
laugh freely with another. once more desert home,
once more forget shared pain, once more ignore heartbreak long buried.
I hide in a dark corner with shunned moths who covet
nothing more than the silky fabric your dress is made of.

Night fades. Graves long buried
haunt our homes. Broken promises swear to no longer covet
tonight. Who will you dream of?

The author's comments:
Lost is written in the form of a sestina. It echoes the pain of a delusional young lover whose dreams push him into self-destruction.

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