Soft Contemplation

In bed 

I could almost pretend

That I love him

His breath quickens

His skin

Hot

I almost feel

But 

The ceiling reminds me

You see

There’s a pattern

Up there

It’s beautiful and pale and delicate

I can trace it with my eyes

Though I can’t follow it

I can’t keep my eyes on it

We move

He moves

And 

I pick up 

another line

Not there

Not there

Oh! 

There.

There.

There.

No.

There’s a crack in that pattern.

That delicate, pale, beautiful pattern

And sometimes I think

I think 

I think it is there

For me to pour my soul into

For when he cradles my head in his arms

To drive a soul inside me

And I gasp

I gasp

When he gasps

My soul is not there

But my body

It wants to feel

It wants to feel what matters so

It wants to feel what softens his eyes

And lightens his hands

And quickens his heart

I

He

I…

I think he loves me, you know

I think he thinks he loves me

But how can you love someone

When their soul is in the crack in the ceiling?

And

The thrust of the problem here

As sweat pours from my body

As my breath hitches

And my fingers curl

And he calls my name

And the world goes dark and my soul hides from even me

Is that maybe I could have loved him

Maybe

Maybe I could.

If I didn’t love you.