As the sun rises,
Poetry coos in my ear,
brushes her hand across my cheek,
whispers of passion and secrets and yearning . . .
when I pull myself from her sheets I'm giddy.
The tension rises when I head for the door.
She reminds me this isn't my first
go 'round with Novel,
"A sequel? Honestly! Do you really think you can
fix what you broke the first time around?'
Her lip curls at the thought of it!
I feel weak, ashamed.
"Don't go!" she says, as she reveals her
nakedness from beneath layers of meaning.
I linger awhile longer. My lips wet against the
aubade of her.
We move in perfect rhythm, she keeps time with
But later, when I'm faced with what I've done
with Poetry, I squirm in my skin.
Novel sits at my desk and pouts,
"Characters have died, the plot is
unresolved! You can't just leave me
hanging like this!
Think of the children!"
I try and explain, "You just don't get it,
I've known Poetry since high school!
I can't just walk away!
She knows everything about me,
and she keeps it to herself!
I trust Poetry!
How do I know I can trust you?"
Novel shrugs, "You don't, but you made a
Besides what has Poetry ever given you?
Can she help you pay the bills?
Has she ever even given you a straight answer about anything?
It's her or me, you decide!"
But to leave Poetry now. . .
abandon her in the squalor and solitude
of that dumpy place on the east side. . .
When she offers me promises of ecstasy,
Gets me high on verse! Straddles me
Poetry is the only one who really understands me!
The only one who really listens. . .
Still, Novel just won't let me go.
I owe her. She was there when I
really needed her and now she's got this narrative
going in her head about acceptable resolutions.
She insists. . .
"There's something more substantial here
than what you have with Poetry
a consistency, something you can really count on."
I just wish I could be myself with Novel.
That I didn't just have to stick to the same story.
Sometimes I'm not that clear about what I
even want to say.
Still, I have to try, don't I?
Novel is willing to make it work.
And maybe in time I'll finally be able to
open up with her.
Besides, I can always find Poetry again someday, right?
Maybe when we're old
Novel will reach some epiphany about not needing me
to reach the climax she's on that constant quest to find
and things will end amicably.
Then Poetry and I can hook up on the internet,
Maybe trade imagery, giggle haiku
Text onomatopoeia . . .
Oh who am I kidding?
I'll never leave Poetry, she'll be my mistress
for as long as I can keep her.
Don't get me wrong, I love Novel
but Poetry makes me feel alive!