Please note: The poet, in this case me, is not the “speaker” in the following poem. I thought it best to give this disclaimer so people wouldn’t worry about my marriage.

 

 

I know how to spend my allowance

of daily smiles. Opportunities seen as

calculated chances, I’m traveling a gravel path

to find the candy promised me.

 

 

Marching down your boulevard I see

a burning wild fire of enthusiasm.

A powerful you. A capable me. Pleasing.

A promise given, a promise received.

 

 

The holy presence of our communion shines.

Unafraid, we light our interdependent lamps.

Laughing we will rise, and shield our eyes

from the unexpected brilliance of our kinship.

 

 

Delicious flavors tingle on our tongues;

we savor a notion of cohesion because

it helps us map a richness for our unity.

A vow’s been made—the candy promised us.

 

 

Why is it then that later we do battle?

Casting clever exchanges to be

licked from our lips like ice cream. After all,

we are the pair who clipped our own wings.

 

 

No longer do we wear the hat of empathy

or reside within the photo album of our lives.

It seems contentment only lived on glossy paper,

and fidelity was not the candy promised us.