Member-only story
Patterns of Passion
A Poem
“hey, babe, do you remember when” —
it’s an old refrain like a half-whispered lullaby,
broken for the heart of it and the weight of it,
all those years we lost while waiting on wishes
that couldn’t be granted by stars in the sky
while we missed what was right in front of us
even now, I recall your Cupid’s bow mouth
with its half-hearted kisses you doled out
to any guy who wasn’t me (hey, it’s true)
while I did nothing to earn your blessed favor
like I was a disgraced knight of the round table,
the Lancelot to your queen of Camelot
we drew out all these lines and knots of motion —
the friction of each other we tried to ignore,
the magnetic pull we didn’t want to acknowledge
because we were too pride-heavy people
who couldn’t wait to get out, get going,
get gone away on that next train out
and you said it’d never be me (hey, I get it) —
though I tried to convince you otherwise
with all the maps of my heart’s leanings
that did nothing to sway…
