Twin Cores

I cry like I always do,
even though you flurry around my crooked
smile as if you're in a parade.

Placing my hat on your head you
prance away, naughty with mischief and
innocence.

The grubs you toss flutter away
as butterflies before me;
I suppose this is the passage of time.

My sweet gentleman, though
you dry up all my tears
you can't efface their gulches.

The vapor flies off my tongue at
sharp points that slice at your essence.
My cringes are all that keep you young.

You ride me through life,
a captain to calm the cascades of joy
and love that threaten to crumble inside.

Now I'm older than you by many times,
although still seduced by that lovely smile.
The truth can be so difficult to swallow.

Those butterflies return, wings torn and battered.
Enter my throat, where their legs of sapphire dynamite
prod and scrape up my slackened jaw.

Wisdom has come at the end when
it's far too late to make amends.
'You will never return home', I wish I'd said.

Finally washed and sudsed,
we collided at the mirror and
crossed sides, death with life.