Concrete

Now I want to speak with substance
and excuse myself with grace,
and to overwhelm your conscience
with detached and pointed weight.

Had you passed into the abstract,
more a bother than a curse,
my regret would be unfounded;
but I've seen you at your worst.

Satisfaction won't be found in
feigned despair at truths re-learned,
like I hadn't any clue
that to attempt would be to burn.

I replace you with the treasures
that I eat and drink and buy,
yet the consequence of losing
is the dullness of my eye.

Have your senses been diluted?
Have you lost a little shine?
Likely you've increased your luster
after taking all of mine.

I still find when I awaken
that I've mourned you in my rest,
blankets tossed and pillow beaten,
and a raging in my chest.

You have such an inclination
to a vogue fidelity.
Anything beyond abstraction
is consumption; you're not free.

But I cannot be your comfort
when you panic in the night,
and mortality confronts you,
when your wrongs outweigh your rights.

I don't want to know you anymore ,
or keep your whereabouts-
but you know that won't stop me
from forever finding out.

Every lie you ever told me,
every truth you thought I missed,
comprehensively compiled
should your ignorance persist.

Only you could make romance
from a refusal to be tamed,
selfishness disguised as doubting,
clouding affection with rage.

So I falter while you watch me,
daring me to state my case,
and for that you think me simple-
still, my judgments are in place.

I suppose there's nothing left,
and I can start again from scratch.
So I'll give the myself away once more
and never get her back.