Mar 8, 2009

Poem 03.08.09 #1

Syriana
2009

It's not that trust is contingent upon honesty
For I trust liars every day.
It's not that my love for you is based on anything.

When I walk away from the explosion 
That is our life, I at least want to be carrying something.
I don't want my history to perish with the lies.
I want my briefcase to be filled with evidence
Of the politics of our love.
Provided there is a solution to the pain
Or a solution to the doubt
Or, at least, a solution to my desire.

It's not that honesty is contingent on love.
It's not that I am lying to you.
 



No comments: