Maybe It’s Better That Way

It’s no one’s fault,
Other than mine.

Sitting on my front step,
On this glorious summer evening,
Consuming the palette of color
And beauty
Of another sunset,

And writing,

And yes,

The bourbon joins
Me in this moment…

More than a drink,

More like an unwise counsel.

This off-sweet liquor,
This smoky sage
May not be
My Curia Regis…

As it so strongly attests
To my mind,
And heart.

For every time
I write,

And think,

And take the suggestion
Of my liquid advisor,

I find myself
In raw moments,
And intentions.

I find myself
Letting down
My guard.

I find myself
Writing
And saying
And expressing thoughts,
And emotions,

And secrets

That expose me.

Expose me
To another reality
For which my mind fantasizes,
And my heart yearns…

Regardless of the risk.

I find myself
Just thinking of you,

And envisioning
The warmth,
And passion
You so surely exude.

I don’t deny it…

Maybe I should simply
Accept what I feel.

To hell with it,

Maybe I should admit
The obvious,

And stop playing games
With your heart,

And mine.

Maybe this bourbon
Is my Curia Regis,

Maybe my secrets
Are better left exposed,

Shouted to this world…

Maybe it’s better,

That I tell you…

That you’ve put me
On the verge of love.

Maybe…

Maybe it’s better

That way.

 

 

 

© 2018 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

15 thoughts on “Maybe It’s Better That Way

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