I Don't Want to Read Another Poem

I don't want to suck the honeyed essence
from your existence with my twisty straw,
delve into your life and your fantasies.

I don't want to suppose which parts
are true,
or light candles in my mind for you
to try and heal your scars.

I don't want to cover your body
with tracing paper
and run across your tattoos
with my fine point felt tip pen.

I don't want to follow
your regulated dance
spin in circles until the song is lost.

I don't want to grasp at strings
you lay before my feet
like stray pine needles
from a too dry Christmas tree
that the vacuum can never pick up
no matter how many times
I go over it.

No, today
I've had enough of that.
I will close my eyes
to your words and your heart
to the place under my skin
you touch as if you have been
peering in my window.

I will not stop and wonder when
you stuck a camera on the inside
of my ear to record my fear and fantasy
before I even noticed.

I will stop and chase my own boogiemen
under the bed,
adjust the pillows to my liking
and tell them bedtime stories to fit my mood.

I will tune you out and whisper sweet somethings
in their ears, and yours,
until I'm fully prepared
to give you another turn.