John Tustin writes

ABHOR

Just talk to me.

Lay those words in.

Cradle me like a baby

until my tears mar

every object in the room.

I’m hungry.

I’m empty.

Feed me.

Fill me.

If it was up to me,

I’d never raise the blinds.

I abhor stained glass windows.

I abhor the sun.

I abhor mirrors.

I abhor the sweating stinking masses.

I abhor my own skin.

But I adore your apparition kneeling in the church pew.

I adore your hair in the blaze of noontime city sky.

I adore my eyes reflected in yours.

I adore your company among us dirty sinners.

I adore your flesh bare and brushing up against mine.

The dust settles on me

sitting in the dark

waiting for you,

only you.

Arms folded,

face scowling.

Sometimes I have no choice

but to get up and raise the blinds.

Just so you know

I’m in here,

still.