Ribmeat Of The Family Tree

Paperback Lifer

10-4-05

Why do the stars in her eyes become sand
and come to earth like unequivicable pieces of land
suitable only for gardening but not for growth?
Is this what a relationship's worst wrote?

Somewhere inside of me, I hide from me
like I'm scared to perform trigonometry or sodomy.
I maintain wishes, fulfill discretions,
overcome discrepancies and harbor intentions.
The best laid plans, to her though, are her
when she's naked atop me and two-hour sex is a blur.
Or when I tell her to call when she thinks I will.
Then it's ok for her to fall on free will,
lambasting me for my irritations
when all I want is a girl to pay attention.

She can wonder why I drink too much
and I can argue why and such.
Take an example, or maybe listen;
after her DWI, you'd think she'd get it.
But no, she didn't, and still gets on my case.
Then she complains when I cum on her face.
It's harmless, really; you don't need another lawyer.
Unless, of course, he'll take you to work in the mornin'.

So thanks for callin' or stoppin' by
because really, who am I
to tell her things that might serve me
when she counters that by aggravating me?
This isn't American Idol or Survivor.
It's me trying to get by with her.
But now I'm about at my wits' end
because I'm really tired of this trend.
Disguising love for other intentions
that she doesn't share, just ambivalently mentions.
         Not by speaking, but by being.
         Not through reaching, just not feelings.

Why do the stars in her eyes become sand
and come down to earth like unequivicable pieces of land
suitable only for gardening but not for growth?
Is this what a relationship's worst wrote?
Or am I reading
         what a worsened relationship wrote?