April 21, 2013

I wish I would have witnessed
you dance
for real, not just as we waited

for a bus. It would play in slow
motion through
my head. Maybe I could’ve convinced

you to get sheet tousled with me,
in bed, or on the ground, around
and near a couch or other place

of rest. But it’s for the best.
You moved molasses-like with
a mere twirl. Imagine me as
witness to full on writhing, vertical
or the other kind. Hung ups would
be worsening. As of now, stuff gets
healed, we’re healing then.

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