This Honeymoon Is Over

this honeymoon is over,
three quarters of the way there, the twine breaks
under the weight. No. no. Its not your white knuckled
grip, but gravity. How unexpected.

there comes a point when gender stops mattering,
stops moving in between the sheets, how every shoulder
will eventually freeze off, how every small sign of indifference
hurts; some one forgets that you've already forgiven them
and walks away.
i have a question: what makes you love,
love?
pull back the hair, pull away from the smiling faces in your
photographs. pour some water into a glass, the trickling
conversations from what feels like ancient.
sit. please sit. be open and honest to the point of
absurdity.
spread your legs woman.
history is a two faced back stabbing son of a bitch who excites you,
rocks you to the next hard place. first comes day and then comes night,
some times a dream presses its warm cheek
against the back of your thighs. clap,
clap, clapping.

often you lay curled at dawn, finding the moon still lingering
up there, wondering if this what peace feels like,
the honeymoon being over,
the twine broken, tumbling down;
o now Grace,
Grace has given those hands
back to you.

©hRj 2006