The Two of Them

The two of them,

The perfect two,

Sit still on a bench

With wood antiqued

By history,

Staring blankly at one another.

 

They’re surrounded:

By trees that hide the sun,

By sensibility that fights logic,

By lies that keep them ideal.

 

And for the two of them,

The perfect two,

With their falsely flawless union,

Full of love so chaste, that onlookers

Covet:

 

Their wedding could be their funeral,

And would arouse the same senses,

But in the moment they’ll stare,

Stuck and stolid,

With just that truth.


About this entry