Obelisk

Like a conquest
being together
is all about managing
distance.
The magnetic hum of
superficiality
and the core and anatomy
and I hate myself
for believing
that every love poem
is simply
a passing attempt by
the author to convince
the author
to believe
something he
or she
never imagined would feel
right in the core of their heart
and still does not.

A waking transgression
it is mid-morning.
I have not yet felt today
These are thoughts,
I think to myself,
but there is nothing behind them.
Am I losing you?
I've always treated opportunities
like these like
a window.
At best
at our most (childish)
optimistic
it makes for a dramatic exit
but the world in these
admittedly dull days
does not revolve around
hidden artifacts or car chases
and even if it does we have
still the same two problems, and I've lost my key.