Poem: Of Knuckles and Perfume

Dear lady of the night,

I applaud you for all the things you haven’t given me,

And those things you will yet give me.

Thanking you enough for your hospitality cannot be done,

For you keep giving me something I shouldn’t have.

The hallways of your home have become my pathways to freedom.

Don’t worry, I’m never there long, just enough to reap the benefits.

You have nothing to fear.  I never mean you physical harm.

When you stumble upon my happenings, take a breath or two.

It’s not the crime of the century.

Remind yourself of the perfume you dab on your neck,

The color of scarf you wrap around your head,

The handmade shawl you bought at the market.

These things I have no use for, and what I took shouldn’t matter.

Let them bring you comfort in this time of loss.

Be open about our relationship not hopeless.

The time to know my name will come soon enough.

Dear lady of the brick house,

this is only one reality out of many.

Don’t cheapened the process with your tongue.

You hold onto possessions during the afternoon, knowing they aren’t enough,

and you cannot take your eyes from them when you should be sleeping.

Your denial entices me.

I see your body is broken.  It isn’t that you can’t have it back. 

You must persuade me in some way to return those things you claim to love.

Find a way to let go because your knuckles are not the color I want to see.