Again you

I think I'm sure that I'm sure. I don't leave it up to promises, leave it up to tomorrow to decide. I don't expect the sun to show her face.

When will you realize that I'm not that kind of woman?

You swear by the moon you're not a dangerous man, when you look into my eyes and I can see something safe there and, I don't know, though, because for a moment there, I see the son of Hera. I don't know. I don't pretend to know.

I'm going to keep her peacock swiftly. Away for a while, somewhere in love, and here is some meat for you to keep. All the while, I'm burning holes into my kite with the sharpest blades of grass. I'm feeling your vibration of thought. I feel you humming into my being. I feel you.

Jets quickly mounting.

Into mountains and winter. I'm slipping off the edge and there is no one there to catch, to reach out for my hand. I put everything that I was, pieces of me that I never want to know again, into my cargo pants pocket, folded into squares and arranged alphabetically.

Librarian.

You're trying to discover a process. You wanna find a way in. You want to ensure a bet. Throw it all out there and see if there is going to be a bite. I'm swinging into you for a bucket of pomegranates. Or maybe just some shade of gold that will bring a smile to my face. Smiles like angels smile without actually putting forth so much effort. The angels, they know. They look at me with that smile. They smile because they know and I don't know and that's advantage.

You looked at me with those calm eyes, those eyes that break my heart because I know that calm breaks. You looked at me and you told me I need to change my hair. You said they would recognize me. And I stood there, under the running water, as you stood alongside for a moment, and the woman came and changed my hair. She painted the color into my stands. She took away your grey; she took away your distinguished gentleman. You left to check the area and you returned. I just looked at you. I had sad eyes. Somehow, I knew.

What infuriates me most, right now, at this point, today, recalling this, is I don't ask you why. I never ask you why. I trust you to the utmost degree. That is how much I love you and how much I hate you. I don't ask you why. I stand there and don't say a word the entire time, I listen to you. I try so hard to understand. Every time, I never ask you why.

I suppose I should be grateful of the time we have together. Francisco tells me this bit of advice. Good advice, but I can never get enough of either of you. My insatiability gets the best of me and I hate both of you. My thirst for knowledge with you, my desire to be held by him. I hate you both.

I want more. Give me more. Give me the opportunity to ask.