When you say you don’t lie
be sure the person to your right
has not experienced your lies
the ones you promised never to utter.
When you said you came clean
in the month of love
be sure you have solidly done so
before you whisper a little known fact
in the ear of your comrade to the left
he might share in a precise
game of telephone
and the year becomes a year and a half.
Then while you cuddle in your year’s arms
Your right cracks
like desert terrain
in a slow relentless heat
falls violently into the arms
of the truth
that will never love or comfort
simply be there even when you
have desperately tried to cover it
with proper behavior.
even when you have forgotten all lies.
Your right, with elephant accuracy, remembers.
Be sure you remember what you saw
when you said “take off your
sunglasses, I need to see your eyes.”
that was the first lie hitting, the first crack surfacing.