Love, Life, and other Games Lost

I crafted the art of

Love in the Moment,

Knew just the way to grip her back

And make her feel like it was real,

Spoke whispers that sounded scripted because they were;

I had a way of making foreign sheets feel familiar

And convincing her into connections

That I held high, stretched until they stiffened

like a rope tugging too much weight,

then I would watch it snap and shatter

what hung below, splatter into

something for which I felt nothing

only because I wouldn’t let myself watch,

or listen.

            He told me in a tavern that night

That he had never been loved,

            And I laughed at his lament

Of such a silly thing,

            And he laughed at my taunting

pretending he agreed,

            And though his cries I did not hear,

this rope did not snap,

And I wish it had,

like every other thing that ever loved me,

When I saw him swaying from

The creaking rafters in the morning.