Ask me why

Just ask me why and

I’d tell you

straight: you want to

know, I can damn well

tell and recount and

round out and 

sound out too,

and even hound if 

that’s what you’d

really like me 

to do, you 

damn little

lovely little

tike of a woman.

You accuse me of this

and you accuse me of that,

and you will claim I 

change and chop and

change, and stay faithful

to no earthly position you

ever did 

fathom so

shallow as shallow

you did think I was:

but it’s simply not

true, what you accuse:

the truth lies elsewhere, 

and it always has and 

does: for

here or there and only 

with him or her,

the truth is promiscuity

enshrined, like blessed

religious affectation: 

the truth resides 

neither

with you nor

with me 

but in the sea that

now does divide us.

And if only you’d say

your truth as

you number it, and

rhythm it, and

rhyme it so

wittily out 

where, I could 

take it whatever, 

for the

truth is my lover,

longer than anyone

has ever been able

to hold onto my 

hand, and

dance into my soul.

So please dance

into mine.

Dance, 

if you can …


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