mindshare
something that
craves its own kind
I can not hold this
in my strong hands
…either

for lack of desire
I accept this
sweeter fate
of dismissal

awaiting communiqués
reading meanings
creating alternate endings
loving in a secret
void of senses

I think of your sweat
given freely to him
deserving in a hard way
the prefix “boy”
attached to
friendlessness

greed attaches itself freely
so I raise bedsheets
that I should not
putting into these hands
what I wish to illustrate to you
spoken so freely into the air
falling cheaply

the sword of my pulse
wants an end to this war
to lay down its arms
to create a garden
and to watch it grow
under your prismatic eyes

© Tom Watters  9/3/07