I have spent thus far
staring out of frosted sills
watching empty streets
in the dead of night
waiting for car crashes
muggings
prostitution
or the off-handed,
in car,
tryst.
I have sat in still rooms
dissecting florid wallpapers and
picked at crumbling walls.
I've imagined myself asleep-
sweating into corduroy couch cushions,
waiting for the sun to rise
and then hating it's arrival.
I have watched the play of sex.
I have watched her lipstick fade as it all progressed,
I have watched her come and
I have seen her walk away;
frame by frame.
I've been sick
hugging stained porcelain
and thinking of when my throat didn't burn.
I've sobbed from that tile floor
eyes blurring at the halo of an incandescent god
and begged it for forgiveness.
I've stared into the crevasse of
a darkened bathroom mirror
and imagined that I was different
or just not there.
I've watched her from afar
I've fumbled over coffee
wondering how to look into her eyes
choking on words that were never so thick
and I will always remember
the picture of her with him.
I will keep watching
I will keep sobbing
and perhaps,
just perhaps;
I'll smile
at all of my
good
fortune.
