unfeeling

oil fumes,
and the sand on the backseat
from the night at the beach..
i'm different
to your girl
in all her unfeeling fire.
more sedate,
like the music you played
the ghostly acoustic
in the bed
where i laid.
unasleep,
in cotton trim
still untouched
by him
and all the misbegotten nights
what if,
you were looking for love
instead of his kiss?
and what if
the closest you ever felt
was an ever-frustrating
this?
bite my tongue
and hold me here
the orange underworld
and the seaplants
the lilylike vessels
of sleepless transportation
i revel.

(i am not ill
but neither am i well)

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[Ed Hart]

slings and arrows of outrageous fortune