Saturday, March 21, 2020

John Tustin writes


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,

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