you’re so vain, you probably think this poem is about you

"you're so vain, you probably think this poem is about you."
 
before you stabbed me somehow real--
before i was bleeding out all over the field,
all i could see was your siren-beauty
singing,  all I could feel was your hot face bathing,
against the searing white--  that astonishing raw--
seconds after I  had opened my arms:
i felt the definite betrayal of your knife
violating my hungering space.

(i am nothing but disdained and craven
  in my addiction for your novocain lovin) 

then, you dressed me down, and
               dressed my wounds, and
            undressed yourself,
        to address me down.
to take care of kissing me, to take care of caressing me
where my aching has consumed all sound.where my consumption
has caused aching all around. so i can barely think to think
my way out of the box-- because all is alright, right
when ill take any warmth,
as a ward against the freeze that defines every month.

(i am everything but accomplished and winning
  in my race for that 100percent numbed feeling.)

until, i am almost better, i am almost ready
to pull myself out of your venus such embrace,
when your knife finds my ache again, and my back
finds the floor, again, as willingly as someone broken again,
someone to be that one repair, again,
someone to be your one fix, again.

i am nothing but disdained and craven
in my addiction for your novocain lovin
i am everything but accomplished and winning
in my race for that 100percent numbed feeling.

-m. l. michael.
-05-29-06-

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