i.

Nobody I see seeks to be permanent
presences in my existence, no. Only
apparitions bested by my own adieu’s
undue ghosting, unmoved by doubts proven false

only in those moments wanting to seem loved
becomes more marketable than truths often
disputed when haunting someone else’s heart.
How in solitude such rumours’ proof dissolves,

now that you know this is only a part, scent
kissed onto strangers’ lips to throw them off. Not
at all the case but a role played when, intent
on misleading me, I allow no one room.

If you’re not someone I love already, then
it means nothing to me to be loved by you.

                    ii.

Nobody can underhand or comprehend
how many steps ahead to begin this dance,
no. Not unless with willingness to be moved
one opens to accepting, if not at all

understanding, what demands a man defends
his independence against by insisting
paramours perform. Doors through which to pass, tests
and transgressions to endure, before these walls

of mine fall. Armour designed by magician’s
hand to allure kindred others repulsed by
this world our kind abhors, and discourage them
whose mission it is to ignore my values.

If you’re not someone I love already, then
it means nothing to me to be loved by you.