The Shame of The Begger
Turn the lights off
My fingertips graze your spine, lost hands run down your back,
I’m trying not to read the scolding brail telling me that I don’t deserve this.
Deter my hands from feeling out the old familiarities of your nose and your lips
Silence the whimpers of the white-faced pound dog within me
The cries of the dirty child at your feet
I can close my eyes, but the flame is still alive
It still burns my hair.
Dim the lights
I love to look into your eyes
But I hate to know that they are yours
I hate to see my reflection in them.
