The Honest Woman’s Dating Manifesto
It’s inevitable, perhaps, the wilting of relationships.
seems like the corners of someone’s eyes grow heavier
as hours pass, weeks, months, and it’s always easy
to stare at sadness or hide from a lover when things become
complex.
It’s always ‘complicated’
as uttered by every person on this dying earth.
and this home turns us
and to us whispers. and we pray silent thoughts in response.
the arms of our whispers begin growing weeds enough
to prune thoughts about love and vows and hysteria
yet –
as age grants itself to you,
as polished people ponder the various ways to disconnect from yearning,
to stop themselves from tip-toing away from empty beds
to stop themselves from chasing harsh illusions of warmth in bodies
who lure us into freezing fatalities…
all this and yet –
i’ve felt myself enough to be coaxed by my own heart
into seeking affection from noted illusions.
like sucking my fingers at the mere memory of sweet cakes,
i recall men.
i recall attention.
and then tension.
i recall silence.
and phone calls.
and illness and tears.
i recall silence.
and phone calls.
and illness and tears.
i recall calling.
and then silence.
and a new start begins cyclical and clinical,
dinner paid for by a new man, by new men.
chasing the hollow outline of heat,
charging at the empty promise of a person worth more
than a free meal.
i let them feed me for sport.
and try my hand at getting a grasp
on those good enough for something
‘uncomplicated’…
above photo credit: Tess Coats
