Deuce
So that's how it is, then
you called to the night
the rain pouring down,
and your eyes fever-bright,
and I like a good boy
I stood by to view
your hands on her body
Intentions askew
You knew that it felt wrong,
but couldn't think why
and then, while you fucked her
I felt my soul die.
So that's how it is, then
you yelled as she left
Expression so childlike,
so lonely, bereft
As you stood on the sidewalk
and watched her go home,
I know how you felt, then
I did too—alone.
So, Omi, you saw that?
You asked from the door
I nodded, and watched,
and you called her a whore.
I could tell that it hurt, though
I wore that same look
But you sighed, and you smiled
and it's my heart you took.
You're so willfully blind
to the looks that I throw
And the things that you miss
sometimes sting like a blow
And you missed it, just then
And will next time as well
Still, you shake your hair back and say
Omi, life's hell.
I know, Yohji, I say
as I turn back upstairs
You grin cheerily again
Now you're putting on airs.
Your heart's broken before,
and I know you're not fine,
Yes, your heart has been broken—
but then, so has mine.
Notes: I think this needs to be longer. It doesn't quite seem complete, as is. Ah, well. The title came from the scoring in tennis, by the way. Deuce is when both players have forty points—or are tied at anything after that—essentially it means that they're tied.
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