For a Lover
How can I claim to be inspired
when I’m always so goddamned tired?
Instead, I’ll just watch the flames climb higher,
wonder once again how not to burn,
even though I am on fire.
Last night, we drenched ourselves in sweat.
Later, I wondered where they all went –
these goals I’ve never met.
You, I stroked like a faithful pet.
I wished I could have surrendered.
I wished I could have wept.
I took care of drunken you.
It’s something I’ve grown accustomed to,
Something I know well how to do.
You couldn’t fill the gaping hole
and I couldn’t play the right role.
Even though we’ve come to know
moods, attitudes, emotions, levels of devotion,
the part I always love the best
is the making of the nest –
burrowing my face in your hairy chest
and cradled by your toothpick arms,
I am always seduced by even the least of your charms.
I love waking up next to you,
without having known your sticky glue.
My friend, my friend,
when push comes to shove
and end comes to end,
when one of us is catatonic,
the most important things
are always platonic.
copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews
