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He speaks to me in French
His limited English is rich with the honey of his native tongue.
My heart flips over just to hear him.
He tells me about Truths and speaks of Beauty
Talks of Love
As though he knows Her well.
His syntax is charmingly off,
But he communicates clearly,
The messages received
With zero distortion.
I decide that Europeans
Know more of love
As a people and culture
Because they have had longer
To feel it.
He talks of holding me in his arms all night long
And stroking my face
Tenderly;
Of wondering if
I will linger in his embrace,
Tells me I am safe.
He promises to pull my hair just so
When he kisses me
Tells me he will make me his
Alone,
That he will wipe clean the
Taint of pain from my soul.
I am taken with him,
Absorbed
Entranced
Fascinated
Hopeful
Until it is time to say
Goodnight
And he says I should have "sweet dreams";
It is then the memory clambers in my head
(Rattling around like pots and pans in a cupboard)
Of you telling me goodnight,
Saying I should have "some sweet ones"…
….The sadness comes rushing back
As indefatigable as waves crashing on the shore.
How long will it be
Until another man
Can stand
Out of your
Shadow ??
How long before I stop
Comparison shopping ?
Why do I approximate
A King to
A Libertine ??
Or is my true sin
Believing that there are any Kings ?
I can't understand how you
Did this to me
Or why I let you.
I had no defenses for you.
I was not prepared.
I was ripe for the picking.
Why didn't I run ?
Why am I stuck in this ?
Too many questions,
And the general anesthesia
Of answers is
Unavailable to me.
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