Dressed in a hat I knit him, shame
invites himself on my morning walk.
I do not attempt to ditch him.
Don’t exactly encourage him
to stroll along, either.
He is limping. He catches
me noticing, reminds me
that I kicked him in the shins. I don’t remind him
it was an accident. He had tripped me.
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to,” he says,
reading my mind as he always does.
He curls his hand around my shoulders.
Pulls me closer. Says, “You know I’m
the only one who will always be with you.
I’m the only one who really knows you.”
Now I do pick up the pace.
“You can’t outrun me, doll,” he says.
He knows I hate it when he calls me doll.
I stumble on a patch of ice and start to fall.
He hustles to catch me before I hit
the ground. I can’t help but notice
the limp is gone. Part of me wishes
he’d let me fall. I don’t want him around.
But the other part surrenders
as he holds me in his strong, familiar arms.
“Doesn’t it feel good,” he says. “You know
you want it, doll.”
I sputter, “Don’t …” and he kisses me
long and slow. I can taste the curl
in his lips. Shit. He knows how
I love it when he does that little
kissy hum, and he does it, and then
he lets me fall.
Great ending, as usual. Reminds me a bit of Rumi, the mischief, but not so wise. Clearly an opportunist. You must be the wise one.