missed calls

as i climb the sixteen stairs
to your home tucked away in the darkness,
i am overcome with a tingling weariness,
known only to a traveller
who is actually tired of the journey,
and looks forward to his destination.

each step is like a complaining mother-in-law,
unable to choose between her son's happiness,
and her jealous love for him.
each step complains and insults me,
scolds me for giving up and becoming a whore
to the unreasonable demands of my heart.
each step becomes a dark forest
that one gets lost in irrevocably,
while still believing that there is light on the other side.

when i reach your threshold,
and the door opens with a mighty swing,
my halo comes crashing down,
breaks into a million pieces
gets wiped off on your cotton doormat,
and is left outside while i step across
naked and without expectation,
only a remote desperate longing
that the darkness will hide my shame,
and swallow my smile
as i melt away in your arms.

to hell with love
when we know that all we really need
is a warm bed to fight away the darkness.

when morning comes, as i dress away from your prying eyes,
i put my halo back on, as easily as i slip my feet into flat chappals,
and go down the stairs to conquer my demons.

the stairs are always quiet when i go down,
they laugh discreetly at my rumpled hair.
they can't see the halo on my head,
they only know the guilt of my quick steps,
desperately running away from you,
and unreasonably wishing you will hold me back.