Something happened in LA that made you so excited

That you attacked me for the first time…the only time ever

When you came home

You talked dirty to me and lasted

You savored

You needed

And afterward you even told me it was mostly because of me….

Mostly

Yet it only happened that once.  In two years.

Whatever it was…whomever it was…in LA,

the event was so deep and incredibly intense that you wouldn’t tell me what happened

Not then. Not now. I ask, and you close up

Like a flytrap hiding an insect

So here in this coffin of unknowns and questions and being told

The truth is not suitable for my temperament

I try to breathe and believe that when something breaks

I will be far enough under ground for you to not have to hear the shatter

Emotionally walled in and , with some practice, skilled enough to blend into the black

There will be no crisis,

Or crying until the bottom lid of eyes droop like some do after consumption

there will be no bells and squawking of Buzzards circling over dead things in the street

no more broken instruments that only play a high-pitched drone out of holes on the side

I’ll refrain from taking you on these rollercoaster rides built by Carnies

that always seem to throw us off at the very top

I get it.

I’ll stop.

And you just keep on inside the morning you envisioned for today.

All sun, no waves….problems burbling somewhere deep in the buried.

But not asked after.

The cemetery quiet of days filled with things that “aren’t a big deal.”