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Sock it to Me
A tiny tragedy
trapped in a sob
with a moan, escapes,
materializes before my face.
Does it take
the ugliness of finality
to accentuate the beauty
of temporality?
Where lovers' reality exists
as a spotlight
amidst the obscurity
of the uncertain.
And the ephemeral beam is
always shifting,
as if looking for the next actor
to shine upon,
rummaging through
volatile emotions
like socks in a drawer.
Pull out:
this pair doesn't match,
discard.
Next,
These ones are too small;
they used to fit nicely,
but not at all
anymore.
But when we are barefoot
in loveless winters,
how we ache
for the tattered old cloths.
Such is our lot, however.
Stability is a sweet,
but duplicitous comfort;
A dark and venomous brew
beneath the froth.
