The ladies of regret -

oh, these elegant women. 
walking quietly into my life,
with their gris and speckled eyes,
how they settle at my side,
how they hold my hand,
uninvited.

Do not cry to me companion of my youth, and tell me of the struggle
to return to whom you were.
The creature prints,
and wedding you hate,
and bells still ringing around your head.
There were choices when you sat
in the conference room,
when we walked above the river at night,
watching the city glint,
dancing with drag queens on Friday.

You were led away from your daydreams,
by steps all your own.
And you, with the well known beauty,
what drifts below your face,
currents of something even Paul will never know.
I suspect treachery at times,
delicious treacles,
interludes you savor all alone.

I guess.

And I know.

Fear motivates us,
and secures our seclusion.


But oh, the lovely.
In you I can only see pain,
ill-concealed, '
well worn
across your expanse.
The world has brought you much,
often,
soon.

Elizabethan porcelain,
without saucer for the overflow,
you live balanced upon breakage,
wanting to be held in a curved palm.

And when drugs can't regulate the jagged,
and the men don't rescue your body,
and your itches drive you
to cut yourself and drain,
I wish I could hold you again,
my oldest friend,
my unexpected redhead,
I am
ineffectual
to
you.

They walk into other rooms,
carrying my number,
folded where they will never find it,

soft inside.



GLS
6.12.97