[Needs a little work - friendly fire anyone?]
the only difference between love and obsession
is the quality of the threads that hold dual world abreast -
whether when struck they symphonically sing
or hum like garotte wire strung tight for the kill;
whether they shine like spider's silk or morning-messed hair;
whether when woven they envelope or enmesh.
by the light of this lamp (golden as only artifice can be)
I could count on both hands your many smiles,
and draw the way you clasped your hands just so,
and recite the lines I heard you practice, replacing
her name with mine.
I could.
I could listen to your favorite song a dozen times
and claim it as my own, just for having fallen on your ears;
I could call back the memory of skin on skin,
of you taking my hand in yours;
I could imitate your laugh or hers you like hers
so dearly I could do that if I tried -
I could -
I could twist this vassal's rope back and forth
and feel the fibers break beneath my hands.
and in the light of this lamp here and now I forswear
the endearments I crafted with such love over the years,
and in the place of that cramped list, write
just one -
beginning with 'false,'
ending with 'hope.'
