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.
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