“She”

I sank like a hook.
I cut like the blade
of a lady praying mantis,
busy making love all day.
The worm was a lure,
skewered like a lamb;
Served over rosemary
with a garnish of nylon hem.

My substance revealed.
My celebration halts.
Her skin trickled the juices of a light rain
that turned into dust.
She loves me for patience.
She loves me for fear.
You must love me because
I am all
you have left, my dear.

These religions and politics lay better for some.
We must all live for something
and hope to meet the merciful one.

She will fantasize my voice
is coarse sandpaper grit,
covered by sincerity
and cigarette burns.

My longing revealed.
My lovers will read
years past the night I meet my defeat.
And she will be nurtured for someone like me.
My words keep her honest.
My words meet her needs.

She will stay waiting,
best kept a mystery,
until the moment her lock
is turned by his key.
And he will be with you until you decide
to open my book and read what is inside.

narrative poem written on 11-05-2009 by: on mattkane.com
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