February 19

You would not let me avoid you,

I wanted to, but you stood right behind me,

Impelling my body to concede to your orbit.

I knew you were there.

So did you.

You waited for my bruised ego to accede to your recognition.

do I forget? 

You called me a creep, told me to jump at the moon.

Why are you back here, wanting my attentiveness?

I threatened your autonomy,

and your claws grew fangs,

How can I trust that your sweet kiss is not laced with poison?

I am enamoured of you,

I'm not sure if it's midday or sunset in our game.

Is it safe yet to admire your beauty?

Regardless, I can't help but watch you.

We spoke of something. 

It was probably important,

but I only remember your makeup.

Why did you put some on today, and not all the other days?

Did I say anything?

I think I only was humming.

You straightened your hair.

You wore something pink. You never wear pink.

You looked so lovely. 

Your nails matched your shoes.

Some acknowledgement.

Feminine Elegance.

A french style of conceding bad behaviour.

The slate wiped?

Not clean, but cleansed.

I offer a token. A key. 

Have you offered the door?

Reviews

[...]

. beautifully written and expressed ...
. very vivid ...

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A token indeed, you live through your words, the emtion grates on you, but not I as a reader, well done, good read.