I Have to Stop Thinking

I am fluctuating between anger and angst
my heart an angus tenderloin, blue rare
and offered up with wasabi au jus
grated thoughts, still green
growing pale in the places you used to be.
I remember when the feeling was fresh and in my step
the blush of spring
on my cheeks when you told me for the first time
“you look lovely today.”
And maybe you’d brush my arm when
we’d walk side by side, without a glance at one another
or you’d pat my back with a gentle palm as
we’d pretend we were colleagues, acquaintances, two people
who knew each other’s names
and nothing more than that.
But we flirt out of boredom,
bedroom eyes in the boardroom
skittering slivers of light between our silhouettes
the shadows, stretch into a kiss
while our lips unfold paperwork origami
the list of reasons why it won’t work.
But if there is love, then you are radiant
in your ignorance, in your hunger.
You corrode my head with pinholes
new windows to the soul
food for your ego
to stoke the smoulder glow behind your eyes.
If the game of attraction is to give you attention
from a submissive subject, an objet petite a
then I am the Other, who humbly obliges
my heart on a plate, bloody and raw.

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