Forbidden Love Affair

Forbidden Love Affair

By: Husam (Sam) Salman

Decided not to go out regularly

Grounded at home for work

Only dancing on Mondays and Tuesdays,

Evita and Mustache

in outfits fresh from the designer each week.

Me.

A hood rat has everything she never asked for

A dealer buys designer because she can afford it

"Bless her heart,"

Here; even the men are women in some way

Cleaving to false identities so not to be definable

Hunting the seedy underbelly and back alleys for meaning,

All these Jesuit Log Cabin Republicans make for nausea

You have your saddled sidekick you ride daily

He’s the reason for your inflated confidence.

Too loose are your morals with consideration

An eviction transpired where your feelings once stood

-Minor undertaking

Fleeted like vampires before garlic

In the hopes to not hurt ever again.

These are the twenties,

and I am thirty-five.

Should I regret my ‘me’ time?

I thumped bibles in my time,

Making more argument for the opposed

That the ‘good’.

I must have barked at the right wing

And Left side of the isle equally

Because, at the end of the day, they work together

And still do NOTHING BIG.

I await my verbal sentencing

On Facebook, when I post things

That instigate a response.

I do this often and find myself fighting for my

Life/beliefs

Love watching the verbal fodder fly

Each perspective bigger than the last

As it’s a chain of evolving thoughts.

I stand with resting bitch face

In the dark side shadows

beside a lady boy with paper lips

And shade as her veil of personality.

This new year promises prosperity,

I’m not a dreamer, I’m a doer

I plan for Wall Street, like the modern day

Robber-barons

The wild west, success runs carelessly rampant

Like morals in Israel.

Who create courts for people like mice in

enclosures like jail.

I saw the condors of corporate America once a day

Climbing into their glass towers of debt entanglements

and khaki meeting serenades.

In the midnight hour, I offered metaphysics to Stefano,

In jaundice-yellow shorts and Comme des Garçons

Welter weight chauvinist,

American Spirit smoking vegetarians,

Whores with boyfriends

Eyes as targets as dollar signs.

Banking off exploitation is a means to an end

these days.

You’re as cheap as you look…and you look like shit.

She wore ‘fine threads’ and penetrated the fallen fruit.

Tethered to your text conversation

I tried to blow you off.

You’re like a Hollywood pimp to my selective abstinence

…I try not to pursue the taken.

As they are only trampolines with mouths

Hungry bottoms

And eager tops

Run to the front of the line with

Boyfriends in tow

Switch in his steps, scruffy Silverlake, hairy MANdibles,

Muscular bottom workout,

Suburban house ‘wife’,

Sporting the same Goodwill you arrived in,

Suits are for men.

With his hunting caress

He taught me how to hold off

By pulling back and not

Carelessly

Engaging.

I pile my emotions on the counter as I walk in,

From the forbidden things navigated to by common man

He dripped with a casual calm

Throbbing with his dick sheepishly in his hand,

where no end was listed

no reappraisal will redeem us or this moment

Where agony is my feeling

Sacred as an electric chair

You took my breath away

Too many times already.

Your man should be here instead of me.