It should all go wrong,
we met in a place of false fronts and lying selves.
A glossy lieu, with suave social personas
titivated to an idealised reality.
Vollies of double ticked messages passed
and through their shallow blue
we were born to each other, rosey eyed
unaware of each other’s face.
We encountered in an entent fragile,
in a room sombre,
scented sweet with amber ale;
our social devotion weak and optional.
A fair perspective eludes
a feverous desire
now devolved to a black ember,
a crumb from its former whole.
Distrust corrupted our air,
the fire uneased, wheezing and resigning
unable to persevere.
Lethargy and double thought
rendering the flame impotent
emptied of passionate blaze.
Without heat to broaden,
nor a cold to collapse.
My words are shouted at midnight,
love and anger laboured
on unseen paper.
I die
my face unknown to light’s eye.
For whom do I aspire
to see my words?
to rescue eyes and ink cast earthward?
to validate muted loves?
to love
me?
Temptations echo
as Tupac ruminates
on clandestine longing.
My eyes listing
across your profile’s face.
Our departure long formed,
an ocean of years between us.
The first drop spilling
a premature end
to a former friend.
On your face I see
your successes, exciting and contemporary;
and my heart outlines a jealous love.
J.C. FitzDerick 