the proper title's a giveaway

I'm bound to be found somewhere
spitting out words
with
second-rate shoe polish shine
always
(at least)
half-surprised at the sounds they make

marking time
tiring of old cliches
diligently developing new ones

all it requires is responsibility on your part
participation
from the awkward audience
playing along at home
that place
I heard you left your heart
and they
have
to let you in
once you want it back

yet
somehow
I'm past that
grateful for gasps
and the emulation of attention
and if it's laughter you want
a jester's gestures you'll get
while behind my own back
this poignant poetry takes place
but never precedence

and it's an often unkempt secret
that I'm planning your triumphant return
to the tune of locked doors
because I want what's yours
(to be ours

heart
via
home
via
those same standing cliches
I keep clinging to