He is rarer than true forgiveness.
I love him, though not traditionally,
Not with soft kisses,
Or embraces that freeze time itself,
Or summer afternoon legs, messy, caught in a tangle.

If I were to love him like that,
And boy, I've wanted to,
It would stain the respectful boundary
And I could never wash it out.

No deep rinse,
No hot wash,
No "pre", "in" or "post" treatment
None could redeem what once was.

And it would always be there,
Poking its face half out from the shadows,
Whistling from behind,
Tattooing memories inside my eyelids.

What we have is beyond any
Passion fuelled moment.
It is neat,
Politely clean cut.

I wonder often,
If it's the boundary that forged the friendship,
Or the friendship that built the boundary.

I know only this,
He is part of my life
Without him
The sun might as well not bother
And the mountains could lay down flat,
In cold earth tombs.
The birds would sing in minor chords,
And yin, would just be yin, feeling sad

Poetry by 1LFD
Read 70 times
Written on 2022-04-24 at 00:40

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Your blend of language and imagery and intent has captivated me for a very long time. Very long. It only gets better. I write this with a certain ache in my heart, or gut, not sure which.

Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
A splendid poem, very real. And the situations and feelings that the poem describes are not unknown to this reader.