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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Not saying we're rolling through a glass house, but say we were, how's the handle here man got to watch the eyes and hands; sipping from a glass bottle kind she used to hollow out to make bongs, is that a reminder, is that something I need to know? Watch her feet as she walks, if she steps heel to toe she's been running, her arch over extended watch as the stress fractures irritate her beautiful legs through those tights, just above thirty denier but still a glimpse of an athlete's form. If she's been running don't ask her how she's doing or she'll tell you; if she steps toe to heel I don't know.

Darkling, darling, what's there to say if I'm watching your form, telling my friends to know your moods and your body like I know it; it's bigamy, really, on your part, to require this intimate knowledge in all of my compatriots; dinner turns into a tortured crooning of The Way We Were quick as the spilling of a dark wine onto a white table cloth, staining the evening, always remembered, all because Mark caught you using the wrong fork in the corner of his eye. Maybe the glass does spill as you turn and walk and pacing yelling pet names wanting only your calm hand in mine, I'm shaking baby can't you tell or do the vibrations cancel each other out?

Not that I mind, I do but I know it's for you, and quiet compassion as the light fades and the dark erupts, when out of the shower you light the candle on the dresser and you wear it's scent, the room becomes an extension of your grace, yet the night never turns truly and those beautiful moments fall so quick to Times crosswords and the latest Lady's Detective Agency and I am left on the edge, seeking desperately to jump but never quite sure if I can make it all the way down or if time will maybe stop on the way.

Treat me like a dog, lover, treat me like a dog; pet my head when I come calling, let me show my affection plain and unaffected, fret over me when I get lost, forget all my troubles and allow me to lie at your feet, able to move anywhere but not seeking any other comfort than to know your peace. The medal around my neck glistens in the like, a collar, perhaps, or just mercies bestowed by a god vested in alloys and metallurgy; a sign of observance and obeisance to the peace I have found in gentle submission.

Those nights when you lose your pretenses, your so precious guard against all my numbing advances, those nights when you allow your soul to be put into words and when you allow yourself to be just a bit weaker, to let me pretend to defend you for only a few moments; those are the nights you used to wish for when everything was simple and the song was true, when I was the one full of over powering ideas of what it means to be, now I have dropped into your sea; if I have beauty left in me let it drown into yours, if you some mercy for my last few wishes then sink into me, I will tell you all my fine dreams and my last memories if you just lie with your back to my chest and my arms holding your waist until the morning comes; just some relief from these days where I find myself holding onto pillows and blankets and dreams of an affection that once came natural but now lingers in age and falling grace and my and your tired eyes.