She is standing in his shadow
in a shroud that covers everything
about her, and if she raises her defenses
it would only serve to make the moment worse.
An unrelenting curse that hasn’t let its grip
slip after everything they’ve gone through
up against it.
Another on a couch somewhere
drinking in her underwear
cries tears over the fear she feels
around him.
It astounds him how she thinks
that she is beautiful in any way
that isn’t for the sake of him.
So don’t say a word
because it’s not like you are
heard over the frequency
of websites and the radio
And every single page
that can be flipped through.
I know that this is in me too
the capacity to live out all the worst
in us as men who conquer everything.
Even saying this is likely just a part of it
I shouldn’t have the final word regarding it,
but I felt at least it’s something
I should mention.
Teleporting Typewriter 