Taking to the task at hand: I search
for poetry to send off and be judged.
Amidst it all is an email of when we barely
knew each other. I gave you these because
you asked, and signed the document ‘love,
my name.’ No response but you kissed me
that day, and I took it all for granted that
maybe you never wanted more than a good
friend who could give you time and company
while you read a book underneath New Jersey
canopies, and a fun toss around a comforter
and sheets; and they would want the same.
You didn’t want to break or be broken, nor
be the queen, or the usury, you wanted me
to understand, to not pause, to realize, maybe
there was no plan. And that’s okay, and it’s okay
I never could comprehend.