Two-hundred and Sixteen: B&E

You know, we are stupid.
We all know the dangers of falling
in love. We are not naive
like past generations.
We chat over lattes:
Did you hear? He even stole her hope!
Well, what did she expect?
She left the door to her heart wide open!
I lock mine now. Even when I am inside.

We talk, talk, talk
and it’s all lies, lies, lies.

We want them to break and enter.

And then each time we are broken into,
we come up with more complex keys.
We like to challenge  their determination,
their stamina to wade through
the weeds of our trust, the poison of our words.

And this is even more stupid
because those that are the most skilled,
the chief of thieves, do not care
care what treasures are locked in your heart.
They are all about the thrill.
Unlocked, the key dulls.
You are useless to them.
Still, we forget. Over time

we become accustomed to
barricading the door. It’s the way
our hearts were raised.
We invest in padlocks and drawbridges,
heart guard-dogs and alarm systems,
all the while hoping that
one particular burglar
will break in and think its
too beautiful to leave again.

We hope that he will wait for us to come home…
because he’ll need unlock the door.
By this point, we’ve forgotten the password.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

4 thoughts on “Two-hundred and Sixteen: B&E”

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