He Won’t Even Look At Me

It tortures me to see him like this
Curled up on my uncomfortable love-sofa
Long legs
Bare feet
A summer night

I thought it was sweet
How he fell asleep
Just minutes after turning the music up loud
How can he do that?
I had been washing the dinner dishes
When he reached over and turned up some reggae song
Which was pleasing to me because he’d been acting so sullen before
But he didn’t dance
He laid back on the sofa

He closed his eyes and pulled a pillow to his chest
I could’ve cried at the sight of it
I am often taken aback by his beauty
His sandy curls
Are a maze I never want to find my way out of
His body is a bed in and of itself

I watched his reflection in the window as I scrubbed and rinsed
I thought he’d fallen asleep
He hadn’t spoken for ten minutes
This would be the very first time in our relationship
That he had slept and I had not
Usually we did it together

I drained the water from the sink,
Retrieved my notebook and pen
I tiptoed to a chair in the corner
And turned down the volume of the stereo
Just…a few…decibels
I sat gazing at him searching for the first words to write

He immediately opened his eyes
Bright blue with a little bit of red in the whites
He looked like he had just woken from rest
Its suppose to be the other way around, I said
What? He replied with a certain tone, clearly he still wasn’t in the mood to play nice
You’re not suppose to wake up when I turn the music down, I laughed
I wasn’t sleeping, he told me

Just the other day, he said to me:
You’ll never understand men
(That hurt, but it was fair statement, no doubt)
I look at him now
He has barely spoken to me for the last hour
He’s hardly looked at me all evening
He acts like he’s suffering from the damn flu
But from what I understand its just depression

You know,
He’s right,
I’ll never understand men

He is a beautiful mess

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