in parallel poses, hurled under blankets
or crouched in the dark corners of our rooms or our minds,
refusing the acknowledgment of words,
mistakes, misdeeds, misgivings,
or just refusing to stand up, afraid to make the move
that could make the difference
in how either one of us could see the other
or the world around us. Both paralyzed,
not talking, not seeing, just waiting for one another to
Heaven knows I'm waiting for a you
who won't collapse into apology
every time I ask for proof of your affection.
Perhaps from me you're waiting for the knight
I may once have been
to re-enter your bedroom on a giant steed,
to rescue you from your own nightmares
and crises of identity.
We don't mean to pass judgment,
but find that we're always asking for affirmation that,
in the end, we can only give ourselves.
And then, perhaps all we really need are arms,
and each other. Or, maybe all we need is time.
But still, in these quiet hours,
when your lover is crying,
who would ever not attempt to move
both heaven and earth to dry those tears,
or destroy the demons that seek so hastily
to destroy the light inside their soul?
Or why - I suppose I'm asking - wouldn't you?