THIRTY

Happy endings
Are few and far between,
Even when it means
Bending the author’s ear.

A kind of loving
Is what comes over me
When I read this book,
And see it through again.

Look into me
And tell me what’s here,
For I don’t know.
The feelings are explored,
The ones more adored by lovers,
But they do not reveal their interiors.
In the arguments that linger there,
And hinder participation,
The conventional always surfaces,
From where it watches you
Remove the doorway’s
Lock.

A kind of loving
Is what I feel,
Is what comes over me,
And I’ve seen this film before.