Grovel In Your Mouth

How someone comes into your life
and you have to brace for their impact.
They push down hard, harder on
the accelerator and you’re speeding
downhill with grovel in your mouth,
and you want to know everything 
about them, the details of their first kiss
and how much it hurt when
they fell off the abandoned red bike 
in their garage and what their
childhood was like, the popping candy
and the hot pavement and church
on Sundays. You want to see the
leaves catch fire and fall with them, 
their voice in your ear, hot and ticklish 
and brilliant. I’m thinking about how 
I had to brace for your impact. 
How I should have seen it coming. 
How now you’re just 
another thing I have to regret.