Armor is not Amore

The excitement of being ‘his’ faded when lights weren’t on him.
In that space between stage-light and candlelight.

This ate at me, but I couldn’t figure it out.
Figured he, too, needed a safe retreat from the world.

He was a typical friendly and popular figure.
Atypically handsome, strong, and kind.

He was the perfectly mannered gentleman.
Perfectly suited for my outgoing personality, quick mind.

Our entwined fingers co-mingled our recycled hearts.
Quickly and happily mingling our lives.

We were into each other, laughed and loved at will.
Yet found myself willing him to dive into me, see.

We told each we felt deeply for one another.
Settled in less than deep waters, still.

His lack of intimacy gnawed at me.
Though I’d nod, and tell myself, “Give it time.”

I came to recognize this was his mask, not mine.
Not an act, mind you, as I doubt he recognizes his shadow.

Perhaps armor is more accurate.
But armor is not amore.

~Just L (October 19, 2017)

In Between the Devil and the Rest of His Life

He was not where he belonged,death-dark-angel
But he couldn’t follow his heart,
His dreams would not come true,
They always fell apart.

He knew he should leave,
As the love had fled long ago,
But he’d lived so long in the dark,
Fearing the light he didn’t know.

He believed in angels and yet,
When she appeared out of thin air,
The timing inspired some debate,
Recognizing not (the answer to) his prayer.

He found peace unparalleled,
Each moment close to her,
Felt solid, familiar and intimate,
All he desired is to surrender.

He knew where he belonged at last,
In his heart he felt no strife,
But he was caught in between,
The devil and the rest of his life.

~Just L (November 8, 2016)