Constructing Corners To Keep You Curbed

As if plywood placed at perpendicular angles
Could close you off
Keep temptation of tongue and taste
On hold, beyond the cold
Of solitary sentences
That start and end with ‘I’
Followed by ‘Me’, ‘Mine’

As if the exclusion of a well placed window
Will eliminate your eyes from drifting
To a place where the sun hits her black hair
As you reach for scratched sunglasses
To cover the cravings bubble beneath
Chameleon skin that changes to softness
When her nude fragrance can no longer go unnoticed

As if the daylight offers enough hours
Till sleeping alone will become commonplace
And you add brick and mortar to seal the drafts
Of hearing her voice in the whispering wind
Hammer, in hand, nailing yourself to a lover’s cross
A martyr making his confined cubicle
Just big enough to house his own sorrow

Let the sunlight in