Reasons not to fall in love with a Communist

I need more
than
this
but pretend
that the days apart
the miles

are easy

because
there are things
that keep us tied

at the hip
at the tips of our fingers
and hair

things that float
over oceans
and broken pieces of land

that jut out
at awkward angles,
sharp and jagged,
rip into
skin

when we
sink

too

low

into those places
where war is fought
and people die
and children are stillborn

those places
we keep in our hands
and hearts
and in the dark and secret places
under our tongues
between nail and skin
where the bone meets sinew
in the places that no one
no one
gets to touch
until

we are together.

There are things that keep me
here
tied
to chairs and beds
slipping under the carpet
with all the hidden, dirty secrets
looking
waiting
for

you.

You turn me into
a child
wanting
desperate
with longing
for things
I cannot have

I am filled with acid
and kerosene
ready
to burst into flame

for

you.

But you,

you are taken
with causes noble
and things that I
do not know

you are busy
lighting your city
your world
on fire

and my light

has

gone

out.