To The Man Deemed 'Perfect' Poem by Rifhan Miller

It's midnight: 9th of June.
I am dreaming of a holiday,
Lacking your baggage clutched to my left waist.
Lying on a single bed,
Listening to my favourite tunes.
Painting my youth on an untainted canvas,
Without a brush out of a lock of a child's hair
I was beautiful, and I could swim in the turmoil oceans alone.

When I saw you last, you seemed aged
The face from 6 years ago has saddened.
You arrived for another's agenda:
To clean your slate for her;
But you left with your own scheme;
You reported of a different woman.

You've traveled under a woman's dress to another
And departed without a conscience.
You had stood there with a rose in your promising lips
And concealed two more behind your back;
For others waiting in the wings.

I mistakenly thought a gypsy ignorant of a mother's destitution
Acquired that rose and walked with your arms over her shoulder,
One that was shared with mine.
I was asleep beside you as you sauntered out through the night
I overlooked your misplaced boots for almost 3 months.

You regarded my love like a fictional novel
And I returned home nobody's wife;
He returned home nobody's son.
Now I hear you're erecting your love lodge
And swept me under your rug;
The one with the bed you make love to her on.

What else can I say to you now?
My ex-lover, my assassin, my karmic debtor:
I guess I miss you, but I forgive you,
Though I'm relieved she stood in the way.
Your elapsed past sends its regards.

If you ever came back here again too late,
You'd be dust under our feet - you and her
And we will not recognize you.
You have compartmentalized us at the frontier of your memories:
We will burn it down for you.

And then you will be free again;
To travel under a woman's dress to another,
To depart without a conscience.
To stand there with as many roses in your promising lips
Till it chokes you as their thorns slit through your tongue
And you'll never be able to lie again.