The Furrow in My Brow

When the casual days of leisure came
Abruptly to an end (they seemed eterne),
The times spent watching television tamed
The passion in my mind to soon return.

Instead of wishing, fondly wishing to
Look deeply in you animal-black eyes,
Your touch, your breath, they repulsed me. And through
My filter -- or, in other words -- my lies;

You saw my reluctance to speak idly
Of even which TV show I liked best:
Indifference, so opposite your wildly
Played passion, left me a horrible mess.

The sun has long set on our "perfect day,"
Harboring resentment won't make me pay.