"Idle Thoughts Part 3: Wallpaper"

"Idle Thoughts Part 3: Wallpaper"

Your curvature my compass.
Even closed eyes honor footsteps.
My ears their accomplice;
Willing to accompany every request laden.
Perceived a maven for decisions
Made without conscious precision,
I am upholding my mantle tonight.
Few lights blink above porch steps.
Ponds darker than the last drink.
I need time to think;
But I only recall your wink
With my head buried with your sink.

Sank too deep for slumber.
No degree of hunger;
But my intrigue surely piques.
Your hands cup my cheeks
Like that of clay you've spun around.
You don't make a sound.
You have yet to say a word.
Only footsteps I have heard.
This room filled with words
That I've only read in tomes.
Secrets fill this home.
No wonder you're alone.

Phrases remain jumbled;
Only humbled in your shadow.
I feel your mystique in my marrow;
Scratching against my bone
As if I were your clone.
In that very moment,
I felt pleasure and atonement.
Beneath the pungent bile,
I can taste your contradiction.
I request valediction;
But instead, I choose to stay.
My liquor will burn away;
But not the ashes of the past.
I have seen what lasts
Flailing fresh against these walls.
I remember calls:

Late night requests from another
While over her I hover.
You climb under covers
while I recall their mother.
Haven't heard from them in years.
I can see their tears
As they sat on the back seat.
Their warmth at my feet
From each daily meet and greet
No longer their greatest feat.
My legs held within their glow
Replaced by wet socks and snow.

It's time for me to go.
There's nothing to show
And I question your feigned interest.
At your best,
you've placed guilt back on my chest
And at your worst,
You have replenished my thirst.
The bar doesn't seem so far.

Tucked you in tight
Before dimming your light.
Your countenance would glow
Like the one I used to know:

Imagined the disgrace
When I couldn't recall her face.
He who sips from an idle glass
Incurs thoughts that barely pass
When questioned for authenticity.
She was my divinity:
God's gift complete with hymns.
She was no seraphim;
But her wings would cross my heart.
Her voice like heaven's harps;
Strumming even in her slumber.

I've surely fallen under. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz