Sometimes, it takes just a little while cruel,
a while to realise just so clear, that
whilst choose we can
what we really don’t want, what we
really do want may always be
outside our fleeting grasp.
But it’s the coolest thing,
even so, dear C,
for me to manage this gentle absenting of self,
at least from the bad which once
made me sad.
And although I would’ve much preferred
to have and hold you close,
and although I would’ve much preferred
to win you uttered and sound,
and then proclaimed, quite out loud, the
truth of my being and doing and seeing,
if the price of my conformity
is a final shroud upon my honesty,
let me ease myself slowly
to the telling of lies,
and learn ever so gradual
to be unfaithful in thought and word
to this curious self I finally have become.