all the forgive-me-daddies

people accuse his words
of being too honest

how distorted the concept
that a person can be so truthful
as to disrupt the natural order of things

we need a bump of dishonesty to get by
a sip of deceit in the morning to set us up for the day

i can no longer look in the mirror while applying lipstick and say, “lie to me…”

rationalizations have begun to taste as foul as gin

“women never leave me,” he says…

i’ve never heard anyone admit to that before
but i suffer from the same affliction

the men i have loved keep me in their wallet

it is my fault

penitent whispers

all the forgive-me-daddies

i have held a sternum in my hand painting it with dryene gel while considering designer shoes

i impose unnatural states upon myself

my hands want to save the dying

striving to preserve the dead

i want to surround death’s stench with roses

therefore

i do not know how or wish to cure myself of loving someone

no matter why we failed
i still love
incapable of blaming myself or another human for being flawed

we’ll have a chance encounter
inside a bygone cafe photograph
a hundred years from now

and be content to just be there together
staring at everything we were
and could have been

before we knew too much about ourselves and each other