The Plain Truth

A snapshot of love:
“I want to kiss you.”
“Hush.”
“I want to breathe on your neck.”
“Don’t say another word.”
“I—” Fingers, lips meet.
“Your voice washes me away.”

Our talk is silence:
Screaming plastic smiles,
Sales-pitch ambivalence,
Whispering don’t-catch-me-eyes,
“Not a word?”
“No.”

I beg for truth.
As a hammer
Striking anvil,
Emptying my chest of air.
I rang with it—was wrung out.
Vacuum, perfect
Emptiness
No inrush of air—
Vain hope, fill again—
“Lie to me.”

Abscess.
My mind swells with her,
Memory wound,
Infected beyond excision,
Each day oozing unwanted
Recollections of—

“What brought you here?”
The most haunting question of all,
Delivered like a babe by stork:
Wide-eyed and flapping.
Some fictions are beyond creation.
It’s the plainest truth:
“Girl.”