and I am beholden to her, bathed in a glossy light of her intentions. could she just be flirtatious — plotting on playing, picking sides, and pursuing nothing?
I am cautious in her presence, boldly, she creeps. she creeps. and when she does, I stand aside and mimic a child looking for her lost toy. I must find it. it needs me.
I can’t figure her out. I keep telling myself, “Tread lightly. Watch yourself. Be careful.” there could be danger ahead. I want this danger. I don’t want this danger. this danger is linked to her — I want her.
But I want to be safe too.
I hear an older church mother in the back of my mind shouting, “Pick your poison, baby. Can’t have your cake and eat it too!” And I understand her words of concern. I know the memory of her will play on — she knew what she was talking about.
Age and wisdom and experience.
I ask the dog, “Why me? Why has she chosen me to beat around the bush with when I need consistency and clarity and comfort? women know what they’re doing with their ways. they do. keepers of lust and desire,
I will not pressure her.
I will remain in a lane of my own making — happy to gallivant effortlessly in a world of her design. I see what she cannot. I hear what she cannot.
I do not want to damage the goods she flaunts in my direction. boldly, she creeps. she creeps. and when she does, I stand aside and mimic a child looking for her lost toy. I must find it. it needs me.
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