Love in Hexasyllables XX: Corrosion
The chink of bone china
Against the skeletal
Tines of your gold-plated
Fork grates on my sore ears,
Already ringing from
Your stream of invective.
We are beyond the rocks,
Stumbling blindly towards
A precipitous end.
As you dreamily drain
The dregs from your wineglass,
I scramble for a way
Down this cliff, attempting
To avoid a rash breach.
Glancing at each other
Across the oaken table,
Resembling combatants
More than gentle lovers,
We arm ourselves with words
Poised to stab and savage.
We know exactly how
To say all the wrong things,
And at all the right times.
You and I - so adept
At making love and war.
And yet everyone else
Sees us as a perfect
Pair, inseparably
Joined. So I endure barbed
Taunts and gibes. For these days
It is the appearance,
Not substance, of loving
That matters to people.
Rusted relationships
Are revalued by mere
Dusting with memories
Of a once-golden joy.
Against the skeletal
Tines of your gold-plated
Fork grates on my sore ears,
Already ringing from
Your stream of invective.
We are beyond the rocks,
Stumbling blindly towards
A precipitous end.
As you dreamily drain
The dregs from your wineglass,
I scramble for a way
Down this cliff, attempting
To avoid a rash breach.
Glancing at each other
Across the oaken table,
Resembling combatants
More than gentle lovers,
We arm ourselves with words
Poised to stab and savage.
We know exactly how
To say all the wrong things,
And at all the right times.
You and I - so adept
At making love and war.
And yet everyone else
Sees us as a perfect
Pair, inseparably
Joined. So I endure barbed
Taunts and gibes. For these days
It is the appearance,
Not substance, of loving
That matters to people.
Rusted relationships
Are revalued by mere
Dusting with memories
Of a once-golden joy.