Men like me sell by the dozen
to my sweetie taking me for granted
Men like me are a dozen a dime,
a fleeting time,
Taken for granted by my sweet embrace,
“There are men like you, everywhere they roam,
And don’t you ever think I’ll make my home.”
From your lips, once beloved, the words did race,
My pouty lips, enchanting grace,
My eyes that once held a mesmerizing space.
You, with all your flaws in tow,
I could find your kind wherever I go,
You, with dreams that never rest,
Like gremlins, I’d kick one, more manifest,
You, with poems that seemed a jest.
But now the enchantment’s weave is done,
My chains broken, my departure won,
Vanished, leaving no trace,
And you, sweetie, begin to chase,
My whereabouts, a puzzle in your embrace.
I’m atop K2, the world at my feet,
While you struggle to climb a seat,
Beyond your frame, I’ve soared so high,
And now, honey, you start to cry?
Tears trickle down, wetting your face,
Soaking your blouse, leaving a trace,
Flooding rivers like global warming’s plight,
Blaming me for your aqueous blight.
Dehydration will surely come due,
Cut it out now, end this undue,
Can you flood the world for such a man?
An ordinary being, part of life’s plan?
And I, from this height, look down and grin,
Do you now yearn for someone you once called sin?
How do I conclude this poem’s ascent,
From the world’s zenith, where dreams are spent?
Keep shedding tears, my dear,
Let them fall, let them smear,
For atop the world, I find my delight,
As you cry below, lost in the night.
(2013)
