8b6361924772f20af1c439926e2733c0

peace treaty

“There is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love.”
-Oscar Wilde

I’m staring at my own face in a speckled mirror,
down the red carpeted hall, past the statue of general whosiwhat,
the fifth floor of a home I know not,
someone knocks,
tries to jiggle the handle,
hundred dollar locks keep them out, so I can stare.
i scratch at the slight curve of my nose,
which you always admired, or promised you did,
when I’d yell from my own bathroom,
but don’t you think it’s crooked?
you’d protest prettier,
i was prettier than perfect.

My discontent your greatest battle,
until finally you took shelter from the war.
But this fifth floor bathroom’s full access
even to your Swiss retreat,
this bathroom and a few glasses of wine,
my crooked nose in the speckled mirror,
locks to keep out strangers,
like I kept out you,
like you were never mine.

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This entry was published on January 15, 2014 at 11:35 am. It’s filed under Personal, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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