burnish me so I cannot forget
or question what you’ve done to me
or seek any other answers but this one immutable one
I have become …
This first poem, Jack loved. It almost amused him when he read it—knowing that it was my way offering my gratitude. The second, an oddly inspired piece that poured rapidly from my pen, did not please him as much.
With scourges tarnish the whiteness of my flesh,
lay yourself on me with vigor,
bring me pain,
your pain
your lightning strikes
your hate,
your brooding
your restless weary soul
lay it on me
in the strokes you lay against my body
lay it all on me
I’ll bear the burden
take on your shame and mine
and seek a peaceful end for us both
My poems thereafter were grateful discourses to J.T.’s brilliance. I was wholly in love with him fo
