Tired of Love Poems

read write prompt #83 « Read Write Poem isn't exactly the inspiration for this one, but it's what got me writing, so in a way they are responsible.

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Hearts dance on my sideboard.
On my bed head.
On my kitchen counter.
Hearts loiter in the bathroom sipping Mai Tais
Beside the porcelain swimming pool.
Hearts leave a disgusting, sanguine sheen
as evidence of their having been
on every usable surface in the house.

I am so sick of love poems.
I am so sick of having recently re-grown my heart
only to have it pound so fast and so hard
that it muscles through the bars on its cage
slumps down my shirt and onto the page,
greets the world with little arterial limbs,
and either immediately starts to dance
to the music of your memory or
Runs off through an open window or door
and gets lost in the street;
lost in so many different ways,
lost trying to get to wherever it is you've gone.

And I'm tired of dishonoring you
with a nightly seance involving me,
a bottle of rum, and a host of elated little blood pumps.
And the spirits we raise are only tricksters.
They're not you.
They smile too much and are happy too often
to really be you.
But still, I swallow their lies whole.
And I stay up all night long
wrapped in the warm fur of insincere memories
and remain thankful for the lack of acuity
that comes with the lack of sleep.

By the time your smile embarks
on its flaming course through the sky
I'm already tired.
I miss you.
But I'm tired of missing you.

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I might have a hard time convincing you that I never know what'll come out when I write, but you'll have to take my word for it when I say I didn't know what I was doing when I wrote this one. I mean, Wow. Who the fuck died, right?