Poem: I am grown weary

I am grown weary
of stock images flashing and flitting
across the dark and clear glass of my eye.

I am grown weary
of the tittering truculence
and capital letters scrawled crudely across an inner thigh.

I am grown weary;
too weary it seems to slow, even,
my own pace or yours, or hers, or his.

I am grown weary
by the warmth and the comfort
of a good morning’s second kiss.

So weary, my eyelids flutter
alluring to a darkness
lit as brightly as imagination allows.

So weary; my windows shuttered
soft yellow light warms walls
illuminating words like stars fallen in showers.

So weary, resolve falters,
stalls and wilts as the heat of the story
scales walls, and the drop of a blanket.

I have grown weary
of the upheaval of excitement,
of your depth and refinement.

I have grown weary
and light, and loose
and free.

I have grown weary
of fight, so I choose
to just ‘be’.

I am weary.
My smile says so,
as we fall sound asleep.

We are grown weary.
You,
and me.