The shifting landscape
within our grasp, shoe-shine paradigm
of yours and mine, has got to change.
Little by little by little by little
spoken truth used, raped, abused.
Time heals no wounds (rarely)
within the politics of emotions.
No sacred cow, not here not now,
askance, perchance, how will you know,
you know (all too well), you know
step by step by step by step
rhythm obscured by what is heard.
Hike up the skirt, a little wiggle
in your walk won’t hurt.
They won’t know what isn’t there,
yet I don’t care. Of course I’ll watch, I
always do. We’ll both reveal (a little more)
bit by bit by bit by bit
it comes with trust, it may, it must,
go beyond all the bruises you feel when
one suddenly loses what is real.
© 2018 j.g. lewis