Yard Sale of Thoughts

~After Tom O’Dell

Distrust is a disclaimer
as if I’d ever steal your clout,
the way doubt is your default,
just some legalese we won’t talk about.

When I say I love you,
the tense turn over,
cleared throat of doubt,
just a few more words we won’t talk about.

On the way home,
I took the longer route,
detoured conversation,
just another wrong turn we won’t talk about.

In the same set of sheets
pillows form a crowd,
the argument’s been couched,
just another disagreement, we won’t talk about.

The tongueless connection,
closed trap of your mouth,
our chapped connection,
just another partial kiss we can’t talk about.

The short reply,
the hateful empty flask,
how much I drank, you won’t ask out loud,
just another swig that we won’t talk about.

Farewell, closed spout,
dry conversation,
months of drought,
just another famine, we won’t talk about.