Wednesday started with a promise of love and lust
an ending to the afternoon and morning
that i could look forward to - salivate to
during the driest moments of my day.
Last night you wanted time to yourself -
an evening to relax and get some sleep,
however blissful you may find it
in the absence of me.
But now you climb into the soccer-mom van,
a rental from over-obliging parents
to a child in a rivet he doesn't want to take the time
to climb from,
and drive away -
four hours time from when you said you'd be back
to pick me up and have our night.
And i look over again once more
the words i sent to you tonight
over the too-easy technology
that we are blessed and plagued with in our modern world.
Yes: i was unreasonable, unabashed, and unfeeling,
in complete disarray and dis-control of my feminine whiles
in this horrid time of monthly terror
but you didn't fight.
You never fight or try
to change my mind,
to reel me in,
to remind me of the promise you have always made
for that night i so look forward to.
You simply drive away
and move forward in the nothingness
you have now accepted as your everyday
as though one night doesn't matter,
as though one broken promise is justified in circumstances,
as though my reaction allows your chill,
as though it will all be better tomorrow
because it always will.
But if you keep taking
from the basket between us that is love
and cant find a way to put some back
we slowly
surely
melt
then
break.
(jb)
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