Cyclical by Angelle Scott

Your eyes locked with my eyes, pupils dilating
as you moved in close and said, so few
women move me like you do, your words violating

our agreement—no feelings yet. I withdrew
my hand from yours, saying, I don’t know
about this. What about that girl? You knew

Of the razor blades in my tires, the big shows
Of tears and made-up fears, my role diminished.
Did I want this again? No, no, no.

You said it’s cool, nothing will happen, it’s finished.
I said, I’ve heard all that before. I’m not a fool.
I heard what she said, saw your face, all the issues

swimming beneath the surface. One day, you’ll
decide I’m not enough, have a moment
of weakness, get your toes wet in that pool

again. What then? Anger will foment
inside of me, sour and old like stomach acid,
and I will write another poem, impotent.


About Angelle Scott

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