[Over]sharing / Overp[airing]

Sometimes I wonder

if the real challenge be-

setting us in stone of our

very own making

is the sharing of info

not with people who are out there,

nor institutions

tracking our pairings and des-

pairings and our love-

ins and outs,

but the oversharing we

engage in with precisely those

who live close to

the people we are.

 

I feel myself grown

and man as quite never:

but living with you

is dragging me

down to a place I thought

rescued from all frown.

 

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Why must you say everything

I do is so bad?

Why must you make the me that

is I, me and mine feel undoubtedly so

sad, so unwise, so absolute

zero?

I cannot conclude answer

otherwise to this: I can only suggest

you want my [infir{m]-

ighty} madness: my ultimate

decay before the day I am due

to dis-

integrate and des-

pair and lose all contact with

love: oh save me, someone, from

this real hell on earth.

 

And now it comes time –

I guess you were

right;

but without money nor

wealth, how can flight

be considered?

And even a meal and

even a drive and

even a 99p double es-

press-

o[h] is now utterly

impermissible: is now

something I must do

only when you do give

the go-

ahead: the bread and

nutter I no longer earn;

the nutter and bread you

have made me.

 

And yet last week those times

I spent in company of

good friend:

not a week ago yet;

not a bet nor a lifetime –

just an evening of pleasure

in a life I had never

expected

nor known

nor even detected, in time

to understand,

to comprehend.

And you’re a beautiful

soul, goddamn it

you are, and I wish I could see

you, no longer from

afar: and I wish I was younger;

I wish you were older;

I wish somehow strangely

the two we are – now! – might

radically one day gel into one:

a summing of parts;

a coming together of

bodies and

souls, and good hearts that just

managed to be there to love

because managing loving was just

right.

 

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