MISUNDERSTOOD

It has happened again.

Before long, I always seem to do it.
Everytime, the same act
same dialogue, performed with a 
new partner on a familiar stage.

As the haze of the honeymoon phase
fades away, the ebbtide reveals 
the feelings you possess, yet reject.

I cannot communicate in the language of love.
My tongue ties into 
a noose when I try, and tangles me entirely.

They say I misinterpret them
that I misunderstand
but I see, clear as a broken window
the safehouse they’ve built
from their denial, brick by brick, over time.

Perhaps my mind mistranslates
or concocts what it desires
but yours confuses safety with shame
and your affection only lasts as long
as we are alone together.

Did I misinterpret the gleaming of his eyes,
the constellations in those irises 
from which we formed our own zodiac?

Did I misunderstand the poems
traced on my skin, the whispers fluttering
wasp wings as he told me this had to be our final secret?

Did I misconstrue the hungry attempts
to devour each other’s mouths whole, moaning 
into the eager tunnels of our throats?

Did I misread the language of your love
the way you misled me - not simply astray
but, at last, lost completely?

Did I mistake your carefully-crafted experiments
to test your ability to love
for the presence of love itself?