after love

Your cheek pressed against my arm,
making it go numb.
I watched as your
eyelashes tattooed
eagle feathers onto your flesh
and counted the kid-like freckles
along the bridge of your nose
as you fell asleep
next to me on an unmade bed
in a room that was once a basement.

I think I'm too
far gone in this stupor,
in this trance I'm in
whenever you come over
and we play stupid video games
like that's all we ever think about,
like that's natural;
an everyday thing.
But boy, we both know I'm not your
friend in the ordinary sense.
I'm something you crave in
your shadowy mind,
something I can't stand but
still reciprocate.
That's just the way it is.
I'm uncomfortable
with your secrets
but you get used to mine right away.
How is that fair?
I want to be just as brave.
Inside, I'm nothing but pieces of
lost childhood;
bottle caps,
bubblegum wrappers
and pink stickers that say,
"Sometimes I'm lost
but I'm still a boy,
wanting to experience
the Spectacular Now."

Is that possible,
how my thoughts
can say so much,
when sometimes,
I can't even
stutter out a response
to your questions?

Are you mad at me
for holding your hand
that day on the doorstep
of your parents' house?
You never said a word
but now I'm wondering..
Did I scare you, boy,
make you think that
this is more than
just basic fun?
Well, I'm sorry.
Maybe I acted too quickly.
Maybe you kissed me too hard
and that made my head spin,
turned me into someone dumb,
poured some type of
loony bin wine out
of my thick-skinned soul
and made me weak.
God, I hate that feeling, don't you?

After love,
what comes is catastrophe,
denial of all things silly.
Suddenly,
it's not just about lying
with someone who
understands you;
who you just want
to connect with for a moment,
not a lifetime.
Suddenly,
it's scary and
I'm not sure I want to
deal with that right now.
After all,
I'm only eighteen years old.

I'm only figuring out
what I want out of
this demanding world.
And you feel so good
sometimes, boy..
Your arms are
athletic and warm,
circling my shoulders,
pulling me down
so my cheek hits
on your chest and
I hear every unsteady
beat of your Aries' heart.

But there are surreal moments
when you look at me like
you're expecting me to
say those words out loud;
the gritty ones that
make everybody sick with longing,
so tragically unfamiliar that
they can't even recognize
their own blurry reflections
in the shower-steamed mirror.

Boy, I stand in my underwear,
looking scrawny and scared,
and I think that perhaps
I can make myself stop
caring about you
if I try hard enough
to break this chain of despair,
wanting to make you feel
the same pull that I feel.
It's unbearable..
It makes me seem so small
in comparison to all of
the dozens of people,
walking around our neighborhood,
our town even,
with your name
recorded in their daily agendas.
Do you know what I mean?
They all want the golden boy;
the star-child.
Nobody wants a dirt-bag like me
and that's okay because
who needs that kind of pressure?

Why don't you just leave;
turn off the light
and shut the cellar door,
tell me that my veins,
orphan muscles and
poinsettia lips aren't
worth remembering?

I could live with that.
I could be just a shadow
of a plaything in your memory;
something to recall
only when you're drunk
because that's better
than having nightmares
about prom week,
thinking,
"Will they let us
dance together or
will we be attacked
like on television,
be struck down with
a baseball bat
for just kissing
out in the open
under Cajun stars
and clouds passing
over our heads in
the shape of
Christmas elves?"

Am I insane?
Sorry..
See, it's your fault,
for being so handsome,
for getting inside my head
and twisting my thoughts
around like laundry,
wringing out all
the magic water
so that in the end,
I'm nothing but
scraps of white fabric,
smelling of rancid
flowers and car exhaust.

Boy, let me go,
if you know what's good
for both of us.
Forget my shirt,
lying on the carpet back home.
You can throw it in the garbage.
I don't mind at all
because after love,
comes destruction
and I don't want to wake up
one icy November morning
and find myself
sprawled on a sidewalk,
all covered in
the debris of
paper hearts
and Shakespeare rhymes.
I don't want
to find out
that you care too much,
that I let myself down;
kissed you too hard,
ran my fingers through
your autumn blond hair
and listened to you
play the piano after
dinner at your parents' house
like some demented admirer,
anxious to catch your smile
over the treble clefs
and half notes.

Boy, I'm not saying that
you're invisible now.
I'll say hello
in the hallway.
I'll always be polite
because I feel
I owe your mother that, at least.
But I can't stomach the thought
of this going too far because
everyone knows
what happens after love;
the birds get
drunk off spring and
forget how to fly,
they hit the sidewalk
and die in bursts of
feathers and songs;
ending in un-punctuated
sentences and
not-so-sweet choruses.

You're only making me
insane right now with
your unconventional
embraces in the locker
room at school and
promises of hope in
the unexpected rain.
Just let me go, already!

After love,
there's only cigarette smoke
and a tightness in our chests,
not worth losing our minds over.
It's for the best, you know.