The Prisoner

Every day and living night
she wanders past my prison cell
Humming…
that ‘humming chorus’…
like some fucking Madam Butterfly
She feigns her nonchalance
but I know well….. she loves me still
I feel her wait and watch my moves in dimness
See the tenderness in her look
With eyes that bind my soul
I feel that her tears sting in mine
Heaviness in my chest that once held a heart
Truth is, she always did want to gauge
those things I could not show…even to myself

Every hour or so
I think of her, of her alone
Bent stiff…..
and writing….
I struggle with my genius
And she does too
I wonder if outside of loving me
She has some hidden plan, some lead to swing
But now I’m feeling ill at ease
as her thoughts penetrate my maze of a head
and they remind me (with some irritation)
of what I might have had in you and me
Precisely, where our paths diverged
is both academic yet mysterious to me

I suppose that you could say
I am in mourning too.........