Samson Defiant

(inspired by a Regina Spektor song)

I won’t stay the night after all,
here in your arms, Delilah.
Too many tricks, too many traps,
too many times you’ve betrayed me.

Your lips are magic,
your voice a song,
your hands play my skin
like a harp, making music
that swirls me upward.

The liquid nights that
undulated softly, sweetly,
relentlessly, moving from
gentle silken surging
to frantic culmination
call me to make another one,
stay with you,
undress myself completely.

Your loving eyes
try to hold me,
pleading, imploring,
promising, begging.

I want your softness,
can’t get enough,
can never get enough,
but I must go without a sigh.

The future tells me
what would happen if I stayed,
trusted your untrustworthy ear:
humiliation, blindness, submission,
and a rage that will kill.

So I’ll go back to the wilderness,
strangle a few more lions,
burn a few more fields,
live in my cave
apart from my people
who can’t stand me.
Save my people, too feeble and indifferent
to save themselves.

And at last I will lie
after long, empty,
futile years of mania
in a cold, stone cave:
a skeleton bedded on
a mattress of endless, thick, white
uncut hair,
alone.
Your temple be safe.

Maybe I need the haircut.