all along the watchtower...

i watch
the curtains ebb and flow as the fan
pushes them…
fixing on a sliver of illumination
as the silver blade refracts the light
clicking gently after each rotation…

I am caught, a thief, captured in the moment
of confession, oblique yet pointed,
lying on my back, spinning…
arms pinned…black and blue…
with doubt and desecration,
looking up, looking out at you
sitting on the edge of my bed, waiting…
as you uncover my scriptures, knowing
I will never touch you—
never allow you to feel closure.

you are not my child—you
are only a lover i might have known
in another life…
gentle, tender, trusting…
you are regret and longing…
as i sense your desire
my heart aches—my soul rips...
at what is lost and never known…
forever denied inside this tortured room
where we pace and never meet…

where the weight of your expectation
sinks us both…
for pure love is not enough…
it can never be ethereal – it must be felt
and embraced and held,
kissed until the mind evaporates,
replaced by sensation…and sexual fulfillment.

four walls close around me,
as the minutes tick away and the song reminds
me that it is over…
the lie exposed and truth revealed
and as you stand and move away…
your back to me now…i am reminded
of the promise i made to you…
now undone and broken…

all along the watchtower
ja allen