I am trying to be careful.
The current’s too strong
to push against.
Once we walked
a rain-street city,
and I stood alone
at the rail
to observe
the tense and writhing waves —
but for this presence,
and an irresistible
aggression that rides
just below the surface.

And I still don’t know
what happened with that boy —
there were no words,
there were no hands,
and yet —
and yet —
somehow he
was transgression,
an arresting moment.

So you see
what it does —
the smallest thought
of even the possibility
of kisses stolen in reverse.

And you think I don’t know.
And you think I don’t see.
But it’s just different.
I have no fear
of these immutable laws,
and know there is no way
to avoid the traps
of our biology.
None of her kisses
can reach me
to hurt.
And I know
how he is terrified
of falling,
but loves to confess.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

One response to “Treacherous”

  1. Gretchen Leary says :

    One can feel the dreary sorrow in your story here. Very well captured here

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