best of intentions so we make these plans,

you’ll see, he says, and we will walk slowly at first

as if this pace could confuse the wind through the trees

or leave us a moment for moss carpet dreams.


there are times when I know that you are

the perfect sort of mistake to make when my

breath is gone and my head is tired from spinning

or the excessive release of adrenaline.


and maybe you will only temporarily inhibit

the loss of feeling that swallows my last thought

before it finds an out but - that will do if we forget

all sensible belief and moral constitution.


you keep digging through where we’ve been

for some explanation and all I want is

your hands to find several reasons to forget

these indiscretions and

forgive me for failing

to see past tonight.


he was dark hair

and darker eyes with

hands full of want and need and an

unsettling urgency that I won’t shake for

days after he is gone.

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