You stood both beside and behind
myself, jesting in an improvised mockery
of my words that had struggled through the very
space between us, to reach you,
as if you took our very interaction for granted.
The privacy that protects youth
resulted in unabashed innocence
once alive, now cutting into my church as
each jagged edge matches the pace set by
parades of stiff funeral wear
proceeding down the center aisle
with me publicly in tow displaying
my profound discovery of lost innocence,
in an effort to see you for the last time.
You’ve got the heat of a lion vigorously pulsating bravery through your body as you stand up, not ignorant of the talk that flies above dive bombing into your skin trying to tear off tiny pieces of you until there is nothing left for even the vultures themselves, but you’ve got the heart of a lion, making sure that your vision stays clear keeping tears from your eyes and using the salt rather to thicken your skin, beautifying, invisibly scaring you, marking you with a confidence that is felt, and it feels like silk, expertly crafted from the finest of material and sewn together in a stitch that can never be undone and eventually it doesn’t seem to matter what they say.
Why must I consistently
play the fool for you?
The proverbial you used
as if royal but there is no
we, just me and then you,
on different levels for how
can I play jester to your
court when I am trying to court,
perhaps you will see my true
intentions before I finish entertaining you.