I cannot stand lying close to someone,
with as little layers between us, I cannot;
a little closer, and you might hear
my tell-tale heart.
I cannot stand being held that close—
that close, and you might find
what was left of the words
of love carved on my spine.
I cannot stand to feel anyone’s skull
against my cheek—
I cannot
let anyone else
come close.
Oftentimes
I think about how
if you were Orpheus and I Eurydice;
I’d rather much run back into Hades’ arms,
just to see you look at me
one last time.
Mon cheri, ditez-moi—
were you awake
when you decided you loved me?
Or were you hallucinating
between heartbreak and hope;
that when you awoke
you’d completely forgotten,
it had been my hand
on your cheek
all this time.
My professor in Philosophy 11 always (always) said, “Fallacies are psychologically persuasive,” ad nauseam. But what are you to do?
If only.
