365 Poems/47 Best Chance (Rough First Draft)

7.12.2012

Best Chance

He understands my shoulders,

where knots gather,

and knows I like his mouth

and tongue sudden, like a shock.

He knows the loneliest place for me

is my own head.

 

Yesterday, he told me

I was beautiful, then said

to never look a bear in the eye.

 

He has clear words today,

reminds me to keep my back straight.

I just have time to do a quick ponytail

and then boil the kettle.

 

But I end up back here, elbows

on the edge, making hollows

in the frost that has lasted

all morning.

 

My emotions are focused

on the moment of impact.

What happens then?

 

I’ve had plenty of time

to research but never have.

Now it all seems pointless

and humiliating.

 

I never kissed his mouth

this morning.

 

He tells me not to censor my mind,

and rubs my tired back.

He says no, when he’d rather say yes.

 

I am thrown off balance by his shirt,

and its faint smell of washing powder.

 

But I can recover it.

My best chances are all around me.

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