where does it hurt?

it hurts where I notice

you can’t do

the thing I thought we were doing.

I was spinning straw into gold.

you were talking about it.

but as I sat

at the wheel in the straw-stuffed room,

for hot hours 

whispering my spell,

exhausted with mythical effort

and magic work,

you were fucking a convenient shepherd 

who didn’t require anything.

she was way prettier.

I’m not pretty enough to lie to.

 

someone starts shaking in your boots.

you thought I was kidding.

but I really do want

your semen put 

deep in my cunt

every day of my life

in the guest room.

your bravado is a performance.

your dick 

isn’t ready 

for that kind of commitment.

I don’t want money, children,

a sham of monogamy,

furniture, or pretty curtains.

I want you to fuck me as 

daily spiritual practice,

and let me see 

who you really are.

maybe you want to keep that secret.

 

it hurts where I held your hand

and realized love was happening,

whether I wanted it or not.

my heart was hit

with a wave of how real you are,

how real I am.

I said, “it’s happening” 

and let it.

 

it hurts you half-let it,

willing to gather

my adoration but not

actually give.

you enjoy being worshiped,

but can’t carry out the duties 

of the God

I believe you to be.

so you’re evasive and ignore

all that 

as long as possible.

 

it hurts where I saw the deep pool

of serene, clear, 

almost transcendent,

cold, unpolluted waters,

reflecting the blue sky,

filled with huge, sleek fish,

and thought that was you,

your soul a habitat 

for the vivid miraculous creatures,

vibrant and hidden,

sparkling with silver iridescent 

scales, jumping out,

a sparkling flash half-glimpsed

and immediately dipped 

back under water.

 

it hurts I invented that.

inside you is

a driveway puddle 

rainbowed with motor oil,

edged with three crumpled cigarette butts

and half a french fry.

well, that’s rude.

I never even got to see that far.

holding your hand was so good,

I made some assumptions.

 

my poem is teaching me

I was wrong again

about the body 

I wanted to come on.

my cunt is muscular and ready.

I’ve loved several cowards.

I’m safely married and venture out

to make mistakes,

faithful to the spouse

who gives me a good life

to take risks in,

and faithful to error.

 

I wish I could deposit 

that check.

there’s nothing for me.

the meaningless piece of paper

is fluttering in the gutter.

I would kiss your handwriting,

but it’s wet and dissolving.

 

o beautiful.

biting your collar bones

would have been my joy.

it hurts where 

you’re pretending.

 

I thought your costume 

was laughable.

I thought it was a costume.

I’m sorry 

I got you mixed up

with the Truth.