Peeping Tom.

Peeping Tom.

You were there

Pulled back hard, against the shadow

High enough to be hidden

By the overhang

The tumble of Wysteria,

Romeo would climb thee.

If I had a cigarette I would smoke it

Maybe even two or three,

Smoke you out

Roasting your socks

Which you probably wear

For more than one day

Floating on dead skin.

The rot of you

Stinking me out

Even now the waft of your sweat

The panic in you

The weasel pee

The stench of a quisling

The corruptor of innocence

Breaking through the walls

Of silence

Sharing the details

Of lives lived in secret.

As in all things

Ignorance is more than bliss

And less than a promise

Of a future

You will never see

If you spend your time

Climbing the walls

Listening to whispers.

So lonely are you

There is sorrow in my accusation

A sentiment I resent

As the truth of my conviction

Is well-directed.

You are the voyeur

The peeping Tom

You wait in the darkness

Hunched, on a cold balcony

Bereft of love and light

Even as I curse your flagrancy

I grieve the hopelessness

Of your cause.

These concrete building blocks

Are called apartments

For a reason

I worry about the me

In you

Are we truly apart

Which one of us has a heart

Or are we both of us consigned,

As beholden, one to another

For the totality

Of our solitary confinement.

Am I as much the voyeur

As you are the Peeping Tom?