WASHED HANDS - a poem of youth

Lollipop kisses (sticky sweet) impress their nectar upon your whiskered cheek:
Your hand absently wiped away their adolescent aftertaste.

Despondent arms; outstretched for a reassuring (pretentious) hug
Grasp only the stale air of your indifference breathed upon my naively upturned face:
Smothered in incognizance.

Does it mystify?

That I have excommunicated myself from your well rehearsed pleasantries?

Your hypocritical attempts to condone justification of your displaced loyalty

simply compounds the situation.

Your bed is not mine to lie in; your rules no longer mine to follow.

Perhaps now you will be the one to recite fairytales on feather-filled pillows

as silent tears cascade down self erected barricades, puddling by your cheek...

Pray you never hear the lone hoot owl as he waits impatiently by your grave...