Tough One
 

I wrote a new poem. It's called Tough One.
--

Tough One

I’m not the sun’s regard
Cast on your dark skin.
I’m the pale glare of a bad, old film
That beats against your eyes till they’re exhausted.

I’m not lacing fingers,
Supine in soft sand,
Wrapped in the dark water’s breath.
I’m sex in a basement.

I would never want your pretty hand
To lay itself upon a cold, ugly choice.

---

Here's some director's commentary: originally I began the poem with the masculine third person pronoun (i.e. He is the sun's regard), which in juxtaposition with the rest of the piece would definitively establish the presence of a third individual in the poem's dynamic, competing with the narrator for the subject's affection. Though this earlier version of the poem was arguably sadder and therefore more goffick, I finally implemented that changes reflected above because I feared the initial lines might seem to be about jesus or some shit.

Hey! Someone who posts poems here actually has some skill! That's refreshing.

I loved the symbolism in the first paragraph but the rest lost me, and I don't mean that as a critique, I mean I can't figure it out.