Out of touch.
A chosen form of utter isolation.
For he was blocking my view.
Pretending he knew something more.
More than even I had come to feel.
Deep inside, I knew it wasn’t true.
While helplessly I tried to fight him off.
His old equations solving naught.
Extending into realms of vast unknowing.
The apple trees are out of bloom.
I wait for yet another springtime moon.
Cycling through all the misconceptions.
To leave behind the realms of their deception.
He wanted me to want his ways.
As if those days of wagering were real.
While I was left there, feeling his emotion.
High to low with nothing in between.
Wishing for a love that lives
beyond the wanton lust he gives.
Needing to retrieve the honor due.
He told me that he never knew.
His lies were sent in triplicate.
Impeding the indictment.
High and dry, the light replied
in flows of electricity.
While there, between his words,
his great duplicity cried out.
So out of touch.
While I was forced to seek and find
a newborn kind of utter isolation.
It seems he never really knew
that I could do it too...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .