jenny and simon

she's so sexy with her rhetoricals
and tiny fists full of fearless protest.
she's not afraid of sounding lovesick and
is coy, casual as she interjects
about seven or so spiritual takes.

there are no quick fixes, no alibis,
and i'm so afraid of choking on sighs.
apathy is a sickness and belies
that childhood glimmer worn down in our eyes.

i'm not sorry for trying to describe.
simon keeps his closed in the living room,
still shy, never having formed that healthy
hatred for the obscurity of soul.
i sit indian style and feel happy
for the gentleness and the irony.