PART 2

So,
What’s wrong with me
Wanting to be
In love with you?
What’s wrong with me seeing
That shy, Mona Lisa smile
And
Considering a dive
Into your unfathomable currents;
To sink,
To swim,
Or simply to be carried away
By the outgoing tide?

Sometimes,
I’d like to be the fish!
Enticed by your bait
To my aquatic fate,
Oblivious to my future,
Embracing destiny,
Driven by this
Ever gnawing hunger…
Instead of
Drifting about incessantly
Without a cause
Or a sense of direction.

There is something
To be said for that!

You seemed to like the idea too…
At least in the beginning.

Dark eyes
Teasing,
You told me,
Then showed me,
That you were happy
When you were winning.

There was a connection there.
Was I your game
And you mine?

Coffee and cigarettes,
Hot chocolate and not being alone again
Tonight. Was that the prize?

Can I buy you a cup?
Are you up for a game?

No one is supposed to lose
When turns are taken,
Moves are made.
When time and casual conversation
Linger on,
In a roll of the dice
And we find ourselves,
At least, for the moment,
Pleasantly occupied.

Why do things always have to change?

It’s a fact that
Po’ Boys and debutantes seldom mix.
Which is to say,
My net worth,
Made me about as valuable
As a silver dollar on Derby Day.
My best bet may have been
To just fold my cards and walk away.

If truth be told,
I had been feeling
Like an old, used jelly glass,
Even filled with fine wine,
Most women
Quickly walk past,
Eying the tumbler
Contemptuously.

More than once
I found myself
Sitting, waiting
To be knocked over.
Waiting to feel
The falling,
The tumbling down.
Waiting to embrace the impending pain,
That unnerving shatter of glass
On a cold, hard surface,
Leaving behind
Broken shards
And dark red stains.

Even now, I would have to
Think very carefully
Before deciding
If I was really ready to try this
Whole dating thing again.

Yes, this could be another chance.
Another chance…
Of course, this was not my first go ‘round,
Nor would it be my last.

Dutifully I note my vulnerabilities,
My frailties,
My doubts,
My fears,
My superstitions,
And all the little habits that inhabit
This, my melancholy life.

Then I ask myself,
“Should I be so lucky?
Was I truly meant
To find someone this nice?”

But, then in inner ear the inner-voices
The post-divorce disaster dialogues,
Hyper-thoughts, stomping around,
Crashing through my badly addled brain;
What do I have to offer?
Will there be a price to pay?
Will she tolerate the man I am?
Will she understand the many scars?
Could she love me anyway?

And in each echo I know
I am my own worst enemy,
Trying to justify myself,
My chronic indecision.
Believing all the while
That I would never again be touched,
Kissed, or embraced
In more than a casual way.

Never to be held
Like there’s no tomorrow,
Never to be loved,
No more T-shirts
Or text books borrowed.
I think to myself,
I shall live the rest of my life
Without a proper wife.
Forever denied that
Rarest state of grace.

I will myself to ignore the obvious.

The idealist in me
Began to visualize you,
An angelic apparition.
I knew that once the image was
Made clear
It would unveil at least some
Small clue
As to whom I could be,
My true identity,
My present tense,
And perhaps the potential
For a future deliverance
From this purgatory
Plane of existence…

I thought,
If I could place her in
The right cosmic configuration;
Somewhere between
My day-to-day insanity
And my moon-lit, mid-night fantasies,
She might fit in,
She might just fit in perfectly.

And so I decided,
Al be it reluctantly,
To play the game;
Game became sport,
Sport became affair,
Affair became
Short and sweet.
And like so many others.
It was fun while it lasted.

What's wrong with me
Wanting to be
in love with you?

I knew loosing,
And I knew loosing you
Would hurt like hell.



Michael True
1-2-2005 last edit 1-5-14