Quondam Partner.

I don't feel comfortable enough to call you anything but lonely.
And as we sit here in this room of nostalgic face-prints gleaming
From the matte walls: I can sense the appetency surging through
Your body. We are not strangers, we are not lovers. We are naught

But what they told us to be. Careless armrests of taupe plaid chairs.
I feel devoured by these four unblinking walls, alone here with you.
The silence prods Memory to regain his throne and sip from the gauntlet
Of our rejected moments. Yet he just remains stagnant; eye contact.

My still soul is paralleled with your twitching body. Your brawny arms
Are reaching outward to-wards me but never seem to move forward.
For a flickering second familiar feelings overwhelm my stillness, and
Bring chaos to containment. The room shrinks and we are tighter.

The past plays between us in cinema envious landscape. My breath
Becoming uneven and forced, until I find myself crying; drooling for
A second chance. The discontent of our hearts is now perfectly aligned.
Standing, I bring the walls with me as I walk closer to you, and then

Abruptly stop. Some unkindly barrier is between us: invisible and rough.
When my hands brush its texture I am reminded of Reason. You and
I are unable to rewind or abandon. There are no doors -- only windows.
I don't feel comfortable enough to call you anything but lonely.

(c) Novalyn Grace RRL
6.18.08 3:42 PM