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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=417414" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice<br>the ring that's landed on your finger, a massive<br>insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end</div><div style="margin:10px 0">of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt<br>in your voice under a blanket and said there's two kinds<br>of women—those you write poems about</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and those you don't. It's true. I never brought you<br>a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed.<br>My idea of courtship was tapping Jane's Addiction</div><div style="margin:10px 0">lyrics in Morse code on your window at three A.M., <br>whiskey doing push-ups on my breath. But I worked<br>within the confines of my character, cast</div><div style="margin:10px 0">as the bad boy in your life, the Magellan<br>of your dark side. We don't have a past so much<br>as a bunch of electricity and liquor, power</div><div style="margin:10px 0">never put to good use. What we had together<br>makes it sound like a virus, as if we caught<br>one another like colds, and desire was merely</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a symptom that could be treated with soup<br>and lots of sex. Gliding beside you now, <br>I feel like the Benjamin Franklin of monogamy, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">as if I invented it, but I'm still not immune<br>to your waterfall scent, still haven't developed<br>antibodies for your smile. I don't know how long</div><div style="margin:10px 0">regret existed before humans stuck a word on it.<br>I don't know how many paper towels it would take<br>to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light</div><div style="margin:10px 0">of a candle being blown out travels faster<br>than the luminescence of one that's just been lit, <br>but I do know that all our huffing and puffing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">into each other's ears—as if the brain was a trick<br>birthday candle—didn't make the silence<br>any easier to navigate. I'm sorry all the kisses</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I scrawled on your neck were written<br>in disappearing ink. Sometimes I thought of you<br>so hard one of your legs would pop out</div><div style="margin:10px 0">of my ear hole, and when I was sleeping, you'd press<br>your face against the porthole of my submarine.<br>I'm sorry this poem has taken thirteen years</div><div style="margin:10px 0">to reach you. I wish that just once, instead of skidding<br>off the shoulder blade's precipice and joyriding<br>over flesh, we'd put our hands away like chocolate</div><div style="margin:10px 0">to be saved for later, and deciphered the calligraphy<br>of each other's eyelashes, translated a paragraph<br>from the volumes of what couldn't be said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jeffrey+McDaniel">Jeffrey McDaniel</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=417414" data-title="The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy de Jeffrey McDaniel" data-description="Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice
the ring that's landed on your finger, a massive
insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end

of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt
in your voice under a blanket and said the..."></div>
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