neighbours (2010/05/29)

shamelessly he assumes
I recognize his voice
answering a phone call
on a Saturday night.
I do,
and find it useless
bristling at what part
of me names
arrogance
because it's all too true.
Though he rarely calls
I do,
recognize his voice,
the false cheeriness
varnishing contempt and
the even deeper
sorrow, desperation.
When me meet,
I see a a hard jawline,
tanned skin taut over
a rather square and
delicate skull.
His skin I know to be
amazingly soft for
someone who does his best
to be a brute.
Baby-soft skin over
taut stomach muscles
- yes, we've tangled limbs,
just once, enough to cherish
deeper, enough to know
we're not meant for each
other.
When I look at him
through the spectacles of my
heart, I see softness,
gentleness, humor,
and love, though it
may have run astray,
as far as love ever does.
Now I can stand my ground
in front of those electric blue
eyes, in front of the often spiteful
babble, unfortunately very intelligent
at times. I just smile and change
the subject.
He likes me enough to acquiesce.
We're good neighbors, all in all.