Blameless

Blameless

Blameless, baffled divorcee,
I write about my yearning
like I’m fucking Hemingway.
Meanwhile your ears are burning.

Acting like a bird of prey,
I find it life-affirming
to enact my passion play
regardless of your squirming.

I drink too much Beaujolais
but promise I am learning
how to slowly pull away
and not be stomach-churning.

I had better hit the hay.
I’m getting pretty shameless
leaving you in disarray
when you are clearly blameless.