Let us no longer call this bruised thing love
Created | Updated Sep 7, 2006
1
There’s a fierceness in your frantic thrusting
I’m not sure if we’re making love or war
And though this is not your normal custom
I know that we have come this way before
You’ve pierced some secret longing, private ache
Nursed somewhere inaccessible to me
And all of me is less than you can take
And all of you is more than I can see
For I diminished playing mere spectator
Ambushed by hot rage between your thighs
Caught, I play the role you designate or
find myself uncalled for - unrecognised.
But this is not the way it used to be
There was a time your achings fitted me
2
You, morning sun buttering your tumbling
hair upon the pillow; last night’s shipwreck.
Words approach the moment slowly, stumbling.
Investing nothing. A pre-spent pay-cheque
Me, hung over. Late for work, hell to pay.
Caffeined, bleary eyes like lined up rifle
sights on the target of another day.
Almost encounter - manage to stifle
post it reminders of you needing me.
Muddled, untidily cluttering space-
the whispers of what once was almost we
along the journey to this vacant place.
Somewhere outside a bird naively sings
As if singing could recapture anything.
3
We sit together in the falling dark
With all roads travelled, destination reached
And searching deep inside I find no spark
or cause for further journey. Joy impeached,
there is a silence now. There is no need
for speaking. Hush. No words for us to say.
There is no sacrament; there is no creed
for lovers when their love has gone away.
Alone. Although our eyes still almost meet;
our fingers almost reach across the space
that’s grown between us. Nothing can complete
the lack in us, repair the light erased.
Let us no longer call this bruised thing love
There is no longing that it still speaks of.
4
There is no such thing as closure. You said
that once as we were walking on the beach.
The open wound of longing. Lost instead
of here. Comfort cart wheeling out of reach.
There are no words or thoughts that can caress
the place where you in leaving left your mark
There is no song, no music, no embrace
that can connect with me or find some spark.
There is no end to absence. I said that
one evening facing towards the drowning sun.
No way to wade beyond the how? the what?
No resurrection. No last chance for some
redemption. Clarity has disappeared.
Love left with you and I am fractured here.
There’s a fierceness in your frantic thrusting
I’m not sure if we’re making love or war
And though this is not your normal custom
I know that we have come this way before
You’ve pierced some secret longing, private ache
Nursed somewhere inaccessible to me
And all of me is less than you can take
And all of you is more than I can see
For I diminished playing mere spectator
Ambushed by hot rage between your thighs
Caught, I play the role you designate or
find myself uncalled for - unrecognised.
But this is not the way it used to be
There was a time your achings fitted me
2
You, morning sun buttering your tumbling
hair upon the pillow; last night’s shipwreck.
Words approach the moment slowly, stumbling.
Investing nothing. A pre-spent pay-cheque
Me, hung over. Late for work, hell to pay.
Caffeined, bleary eyes like lined up rifle
sights on the target of another day.
Almost encounter - manage to stifle
post it reminders of you needing me.
Muddled, untidily cluttering space-
the whispers of what once was almost we
along the journey to this vacant place.
Somewhere outside a bird naively sings
As if singing could recapture anything.
3
We sit together in the falling dark
With all roads travelled, destination reached
And searching deep inside I find no spark
or cause for further journey. Joy impeached,
there is a silence now. There is no need
for speaking. Hush. No words for us to say.
There is no sacrament; there is no creed
for lovers when their love has gone away.
Alone. Although our eyes still almost meet;
our fingers almost reach across the space
that’s grown between us. Nothing can complete
the lack in us, repair the light erased.
Let us no longer call this bruised thing love
There is no longing that it still speaks of.
4
There is no such thing as closure. You said
that once as we were walking on the beach.
The open wound of longing. Lost instead
of here. Comfort cart wheeling out of reach.
There are no words or thoughts that can caress
the place where you in leaving left your mark
There is no song, no music, no embrace
that can connect with me or find some spark.
There is no end to absence. I said that
one evening facing towards the drowning sun.
No way to wade beyond the how? the what?
No resurrection. No last chance for some
redemption. Clarity has disappeared.
Love left with you and I am fractured here.
