"Still"

A Poem

“Still“

I. 

I still find you there,
buried in the sheets of my dreams. 
The same blue-eyed stare
pushing me towards my own extremes. 

Your words still hold me
close to your too broad chest. 
Gravity pulling gently,
like an earthquake repressed.

I still press on the yellowed bruises,
noticing the ache in my bones.
They are familiar in their abuses, 
cataloged even in new time zones.

I still miss the nubile thought
of pissing guys like you off.
Screaming, “Out, damned spot!”
Teasing the poor man’s Nabokov.


II.

I had a dream you were holding me:
Less like a lover and more like a father. 
I hate these feelings more than anything,
still wondering why I bothered.

I remember everything and nothing at all. 
How easy it was to jump head first and then fall--
    Intimate anecdotes teased in conversations;
    Near-constant late night fixations;
    Casual asides written into formal soliloquies;
    Irrational stove top-burner anxieties.

Oh, how you smiled when I said something bold. 
Oh, how we marveled at whatever it was that made us
two parts of the same whole. 

Something in me still wants to protect you. 
The question gnaws at my insides, 
spiteful still of the deal we made to be allies.
Do I still have a good reason to trust you?

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