Rare Perfect Fit

A dragnet is how I see myself on occasion.

Must make her the fisherman who pulled me in.

Plucking my mesh fiber clean.

Helping to remedy any emotional pollutants we may screen.

Honest eyes match honest cords.

Vocals, never, to me, sung,

Still, like Cupid, they assuredly stung.

“I love her for you, she seems part of your kit.”

“I can see her bopping your head but not to split.”

A DM from my gay fairy god uncle.

I left a left margin placed ❤️, on that observation.

“Yeah, she’s a rare perfect fit.”

Maybe it’s how close we are knit.

As a famous, hand-done, seamless stitch.

The Ghost and The Darkness.

Reference made.

All the same, sans man-bone-filled caves.

What may we find in our cutaways?

Small talks stretched long and wide.

Deep dives into both of our lives.

Rarefied details found, kept, and even refined.

Basic meals on an assembly line.

We test our strength, but no gogoplata.

Stepping left to right to Bossa Nova.

Like books whose pages sometimes stick.

Or movies that are more than “flicks.”

“The way we move.” Was my only clue.

This was different from, “it’s just new.”

Hard to compare to a bulk of my past care.

“I like that. ‘The way we move.’” She once said.

It’s the only way I can see it.

Yeah, she is the rare perfect fit.

Alas, we do have our shit.

Triggers easily pulled like hair on the rear-naked neck.

Exit signs are sought out as a box tries to pull us in.

Put into question these solid pillars we plan upon.

Hoisting on them schemed up dreams but not “full hearty”.

We’ve both witnessed death before the burial of divorce.

How old heart-shaped scars can fester and infect.

Has denial hijacked our lovers' intuition?

Have these lone wolves been declawed unbeknownst to them?

Is this gifted jewelry instead, a collar?

Who’d hold the leash? An arm ready to break?

A grip already slipping. “Help!” I internally cry.

S.O.S. sent. Pick up, pick up, pick up.

Green phone pressed, Jack pulled through.

My YOUness was reminded me. Twice.

Kids go back to the wounded tiger.

Never without a fight.

Guests say goodbye for the night.

Words like Chernobyl, hard to contain.

Another phone call ended.

Our trip’s still on.

A thread of relief.

Emotion weights drug my lids to sleep.

She crawls over, then lays near me, eyes on the dark ceiling.

She feels far.

We then, both in bed, silent as sheets.

A million conversations in my head, then,

I roll, I hold, then profess.

Insecurities were made to face only secure, clear, honest facts.

Seeing no backs,

We melt.

“Next time hug me sooner.”

A bleeding woman once said.

Just before Leo, Donny, Mikie, and Rafe kept her dry in bed.

Embarrassment made impossible

This rare bond isn’t comparable.

But like fools, we try.

For Papi

From Mami

I.H.

Inside stories are clear to the right ones and possibly too encrypted for the uninformed.

Not sorry;)