There Ain't No Getting Over You

I thought that the mercy of time gone by
Would eventually ease the pain
I thought that that glimmer was in your eye
'Cause forever's what you had on the brain
But damn it if you didn't break the skin
Over my chest and put your hand on my heart
Then you ripped it out, still beating in your hand
Just like the last time I played this part

But there ain't no getting over you
Beauty like yours is a dream come true
Baby tell me you love me
I don't care if it's true
'Cause there ain't no getting over you

Well I was stone-dead wrong about time curing pain
But I found something else that I tried
Poured it straight down my throat like an unclogged drain
I can't say it was the first time I cried
"Damn it all!" I screamed as I looked around the room
To meet a face that might could share in my lonesome
But I was all alone under a bright-ass moon
That told me I was a drunk fool and then some

'Cause there ain't no getting over you
Hearts like mine are, to a fault, too true
Break mine again
This time I want you to
'Cause there ain't to getting over you

Baby I ain't got a prayer
And you don't give a good goddamn
I ain't coming up for no fresh air
I've come to peace with who I am

When there ain't no getting over you
Love ain't a dead end that you run into
It's a long-ass road
With some terrible views
No there ain't no getting over you

That Way

Look at me that way again,
for my attention is yours alone
when you do. Even when you do not
it is yours, for your gaze maintains
my mind the moment you turn away,
and every moment after.

Look at me that way again,
for your eyes hold within them deep mystery;
mystery as to what in my person or
my nature has drawn them; mystery
as to the astral depths of your
beauty they contain. Raptured,
my longing can hardly bear more.

Look at me that way again,
for it feels as though my sanity
depends upon it. To have felt your
gaze; its comfort, its desire, its need,
is to be forever ruined until next your windows open,
your breeze to blow my way once more,
my seeds to swirl in your arousing winds.

Look at me that way again,
for your eyes are what is love.
What is true is what I see when
I look into them. I see that you see me
exposed, vulnerable, laid bare,
and beyond that, an undeserved acceptance.
In the gaze of your love I feel free, I feel alive,
I feel such possibilities as are numberless.
Oh, to linger always under your watch.

Though naked, as now we are, your body as
softly beautiful-delicate as it now, as always, is,
I long only for your eyes to come again into mine.
Look at me that way again:
my life's ever-eternal refrain.

Moon Full-bright

Tonight, your eyes shine in the
glimmer of a moon full-bright,
as under its watchful gaze we sit, and
somehow the darkness becomes alive
with fire.

A night after midnight and long in the making;
years gone by with friendly gestures and
at times tensions almost unbearable,
yet years numbered nine in which life indeed
was still lived.

Tonight, my heart is not moved by loneliness;
it leaps from my chest to my throat to my mouth
with more than the courage that comes by whiskey;
it is passion and longing and romance by which it moves
and is freed.

A night where the rain from early evening
still lingers in tears on blades of grass,
and has given to the air a coolness unexpected,
an appreciated reprieve from the usual August heat.
Yet there is heat.

For tonight, through long years, is when we kiss again,
unburdened by time and perhaps led by it to this holy moment;
rambling words from my mouth put furiously to halt by
your lips come to mine, where we make peace and rest and laughter,
a feeling right, a sensation euphoric.

Your familiar lips and taste I
remember from long ago,
and by them I am taken from myself once again,
and more than I remember.

By them I hope one day for more;
by them I feel walls around our hearts have crumbled.
What will be is known only by the moon full-bright;
what will be will, by God, travel far beyond tonight.

Written August 17, 2011

Too often, my dear

Too often, my dear, I look to you for inspiration;
for completeness, satisfaction, healing.
And I find it for a moment at the start;
the pure joy of a new beginning,
the insatiable need to touch, to feel, to protect,
the irrepressible want to lose yourself: to have the world
outside your door, not wanting to be in it.
To want a different kind of food,
and enjoy knots in the stomach.

And then the past rises up to haunt the present,
and promises that this time will be different
made in vain. Romance crushed
by the reality of this world and the
fallibility of all who dwell here; where rain is
not a baptism but a cold dose of the truth.
You, my dear, can never fulfill me but I will always
come back for more, doomed
in a cycle of ups and downs,
yet somehow blessed by the experience
that can never not be a part of me;
Though dead, in me it lives forever.

The knots of desire come untwined;
they twist up again with the fire of resentment and doubt,
a sign of the end of something not meant to last, something
felt in the stomach and the heart; two hearts
afraid and unable to wrap it aloud in words.
It just dies, as all things must.
Too often, my dear, I have looked to you and made myself a burden.
Too often, I look back and feel pain and blessing.

The pure joy of a new beginning -- that it could only be beginning forever.

Originally written and posted 8/8/11