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