Brass tacks

I say it badly–how
all I wish for us
(when it comes down to brass tacks)
for what I really want–
is to be real, and

real truthful

even if it stings
(or draws blood)
even if it means I don’t get to
talk to you anymore.

There is nothing wrong
with being quiet
as long as it is your idea
nothing wrong with silence
(only I, putting
the distance there, no one
muzzling)

unless it is me, there
in the interim
and you cannot find me.

So we continue
at opposite corners
nearly overwhelming desire
(ask)
for days and weeks
(beg)
before the inevitable question
(crawl)
of getting down to it–

wouldn’t you like
to get (down)
to it

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