Pete
The game-player,
Glorious tactician extraordinaire,
To flit
Between
And pit
One against the other
Women,
his cure,
his cancer.
He revels in reaction,
reaches for redemption,
competitive, cornered, captivating.
His the quality of subtlety,
of unsung sorrows
shaping boxes of solitude in his soul.
Our midnight hours of communion
in probing, permissive comfort,
slight flights
for trapped longings.
Angry words,
some primed to pierce and sting
old wounds still suffering.
But yet
we spread a feast of gentleness,
careful acts of real consideration,
where there is not lust to taste
there was sustained commiseration.
What we did not get off the ground
will bury in it,
take root,
germinating the loveless landscape
with a gift of
greedless growth
to each other.