Pablo Neruda Lies by Lisa Brandel

Heartbreak In Three Easy Movements by Lisa Brandel

Pablo: Movement 1~

Neruda: Movement 2~

Lies: Movement 3~

Pablo: Movement 1~

She was not at all, what I expected.
I watched her fingers flip through his ties
Picking from the hangers which he would take
And which would stay.
I stepped forward meaning to tell her to take them all
But she looked at me and her eyes said
He had read and written Neruda for her
In the hours I lay alone.
I said I would help.

Calm pain washed through my stomach
She would never see my pain.
Dedicated years and nights
For feelings and words he would never say.

Not to me,
long suffered and patient.
Waiting for favors from the king
Wrapped in a peasants skin.

She should be prettier
I expected more
Silken perfection, of voice
Of skin
Contained in an inhuman heavenly form.
She was not.
Save for her lavender scented limbs
And the glow of health over her cheeks
She was me
As I had been before.

I can help, I said folding the ties.

@2015 Lisa Brandel

Neruda: Movement 2~

I expected more.
Two rivals for my affection,
My touch.

One old and broken
Gagging on promises, I meant to keep.
Pledges implied but never spoken.
Vows made now forsaken.

One in blossom
Flying hand in hand with me on Pablo’s erotic passion.
Love in truth and total.
Having the sum of my heart
In her manicured fingers.

Standing side by side, I watch them
Hoping the need rises
And I must intervene

The broken one helps my move
Not that I lived with her for many months now
Even in the darkness of our bedroom
I lived in lavender dreams
And
Midnight phone calls, whispering love

I clasp my hands on her broken and sick cheeks
Bless her forehead with a kiss
We will stay friends, I promise

Whatever hope she had
Drains from her eyes
And down sallow skin

She still wears our rings, I notice
Unrealistic relics
Of some illusion I may never
Have felt.

I cannot help her, and I remove my bags.

@2015 Lisa Brandel

Lies: Movement 3

She is not what I expected
Not in all that he explained to me
As his hands stroked a sonnet
Over my skin.

A misunderstood artist
Choked under the weight
Of a woman who never dreamed

A shrew darkening
his poetic mind
filling love’s language
with empty lonely moments.

Her eyes are loving
Their polish worn past the space
Where you can see your own reflection
And into the grit of self exposure.

The ash of her skin an evidence
Of an illness he never spoke of
Now left to tend by herself.

I watched him turn away
Looking at me with heated eyes
There was a new bit of gravel
In the void of my stomach

I knew I would not love him long
This liar that painted up disgust
With pretty words
Luring a good woman
To save a bad man
From a woman deserving
The devotion she was vowed.

He touched my cheek to tell me to go
In an instant, I knew my love for him
Would not last the summer.

@ 2015 Lisa Brandel

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