You and I

June 4, 2012
By , Tallahassee, FL
In this dream you hover just beneath
the ocean-flickering moon, your arctic face
breathes glimmering shadow, and
I tremble in your wake.
But this is your dream, not mine.
Though you claim to renounce me,
it is my face you claw at in your sleep.
Your rose festers in my throat.
If I could seize the carbon razor
and slice you free of my skin, I
would. And I know that you want me to.
You want my blood at your altar.
But I kneel before no one. So you hiss
in the ghost of my footsteps,
eyes glazed, poison fantasy tumbling
from your lips. Wherefore the forsaken dignity?
To turn the face aside
when gliding past: that is an art.
I saunter carelessly, a practiced gaiety.
I can feel your eyes following me,
Smoldering, your bitterness welling through.

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