boy scout


	the unfashionable stare,
		that inspired me
(in someone else’s direction)
	to reconsider
		my happiness
(the eyes of a complete stranger)
	as a mechanical instrument
		of self-manipulation:

(that did not belong to me)
	you gave it
		the undivided attention
(passion for the asking)
	of a woman-to-man
		conversation,
(to-upstairs-gesture)
	and the favor was returned

		the moment i removed myself from your side.
(with a tongue sliming his upper lip)
	once alone,
		i saw no difference to feeling you there
(my agony lit a fire)
	in my open wounds i licked
		with care and wished for scars
(to discover more)

	to show you the price of
		passion for the asking.
(the end of us)
	i had thought you would at least kiss
		with a tongue sliming his upper lip
(another girl)
	but you both appeared to glance
		in someone else’s direction

(at me)
	and it was then i realized you were summoned by a voice
		that did not belong to me.
(an echo to your untrained ears)
	i motioned with a
		to-upstairs-gesture
(top-heavy blonde by the staircase)
	but you were too enthralled

		to remove your eyes from his
(with my antagonism)
	so i climbed the stairs
		alone, slipped blankly into your bedroom
(and walls)
	where, to pages once thumbed by Cupid himself,
		my agony lit a fire:
(the scrolls of my loss were inscribed)

	in the salacious words of your diary
		i imagined myself in those dreams
(were my paper cuts)
	that now belong to
		the eyes of a complete stranger.
(a woman i no longer dream of)




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