St. Paul, MN USA
Honesty lies upon his bed
disturbed and furtive in the springtime heat
beads of sweat, laced with regret
his slumber now no easy feat.
He used to be the one I called "liar"
the truth was purged; thus lacking, found
his banquet set upon a pyre,
I lit a flame, to scorch his ground.
Only now does he admit the truth to himself
but time gives him no reprieve,
and he has no words to fall back on
that I would see fit to believe.
His silence was golden until I broke it,
And forced him to finally speak
when I revealed to him my good fortune
I heard his resolve crack and grow weak-
backpedaling doesn't become you, my dear,
it hasn't the effect that you seek.
So what have you to say to me now?
Sounds like you had pictured me differently:
perhaps you thought I had donned a black chador
whenever I went out, so they could all see
that I was perhaps in mourning for you?
No, I won't join the cloister anytime soon
Now that you've learned to tell the truth
Or at least let bits of it leak through
You admit you've learned it all the hard way
And, when fitful sleep finally descends upon you
You'll wake again to see my face
And hear the memory of my sighs
But I'll fade before you, not unlike a ghost
In a wisp of mist before your eyes.