How It Looks
Like the moth to the flame
giving up your chance to become
a man of achievement,
your chance to become
a husband, a father, your chance
to have a serious life.
Years consumed with adventures
that lead nowhere and work lapsed
so you remain available as needed
parked like a raincoat in a closet.
Now in a grave moment
another flight around the world
as her companion not her mate
as you grow older and
other doors begin to close forever.
This is how it looks to us.
We know there are no perfect people
but we thought you were close.
How were we to know
love would be the poison in your apple?
A gangrenous foot is like a rotted apple
the knife slices
and only bone resists.
all sweetness leads to decay.
I have written my lines into your skin,
that warm parchment, that softened light,
and in the sinews of your walk
and in the glisten of your eye.
While taking more than could hardly be given,
I took lives from your body
and gave you fears to carry home
and gave you reasons for the naught.
And I have whispered our future along your hand,
on fingertips that bear a heart,
you said waters fall forever
but then you said the sun sings again each morning.
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