Slipping off like the times midwinter
jostled mercury like pearls down
my jacket into the lapel slithering
unnoticed to vanish, for
Fate: it was the
Fates condensed and meddling spinning;
she/they know
your weak spots but knows (know?) I
tread the fault lines searching for
quiet possibility lurking there, fuel
for reparation. It is known I know better -- I am
not blinded by love nor soldered
tight in obligation to you, to
love -- you're
like a piece of jewelery, like
my very favorite one
but I can still take you off
or lose you
or even change my mind about you sometimes;
you will not always match me
you will get in the way
you will be itchy
and you will make me remember things
that have nothing to do with you
things that are long dead.
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