And in the morning
I roll out
My old mat.
And on it
I gather
My stray
Yearnings
Concerns
Memories
Regrets
Hopes
Et cetera,
Making room
For them to thrash
And reach
And tumble about
Without taking me with them.

Your brows
Draw tight
Darkening rings
Below those icy blues,
And I watch
You seep
From view,
Refusing
To be probed.

Her eyes close slightly,
And her lashes
Obscure
His offers
For connection.
She smiles
And her lips
***** barriers
She can huddle behind
If she gets very small.
She draws him close
And her sighs
Drown out
Her gasps for air.
But if he notices aloud,
The squinting, or smiling, or *******,
And how something’s a little bit different,
She might not stay to be seen.

Sometimes
I see
Evidence
In your text messages
That you are lost
But not enough evidence
To tell me where.

A smile
Creeps
Into her eyes
Before her cheeks
Draw
And her lips
Curl
And her words
Bring forth
The unexpected.
And they laugh
At the rightness
And the wrongness
Juxtaposed
And binding them
Together.

She stumbles
And swings
Along
A tightrope
Of yearning
And panic
And relief,
Grasping for the coat sleeves
And purses
And ponytails
Of those
Who get
So close
Yet walk
With ease.

She watches
His shapely shoulders shift
As he washes their dishes
And hums
A bar
She can’t recall
Quite well enough
To join.

“And sometimes,”
She notes,
“We are easy.”