Untitled

When it is and isn’t
Or was but wasn’t
It could have
But also couldn’t have.
It’s a what if, a guess,
A hunch, an assumption.
It’s a tiring obsession
Of my imagination.

It’s a daydream
Remember, a dream?
Merely an effin’ musing
Of my wits cloaked
In a dark veil of memoirs
That gyrates around you
With such zeal as though
They were my hips.

And your lips
Your soft, soft lips and mine
They scarcely swell and die
They mimic how we try
To untangle from ourselves
And from desire
To bequeath belief
And embrace grief.

Must I, must I
Must I stand up and lie
And make nothing expire
When you have bent with me
And I’m now warped with you
Set out but don’t set out
In this sad, sad dance
Of self preservation.