The predatory look on your face that first night said it all.
(I wasn’t listening)
I just kept kissing you and assuring myself that
it was some preliminary lack of familiarity
and that once you could see that we were on the same side,
these fears and anxieties of mine would subside
and we could lie still and together, limb-in-limb, and not be
nervous about each other.
Imagine my surprise as I dressed, having climbed out of your bed
as quickly as decency would allow (as if there is such a measure of time).
Relieved to be through it like some kind of test of my own mortality,
like you took a chunk clean out of me, but stubbornly I survived.
I would have liked to have spent the night,
except I could not leave fast enough for what little was said between us then,
how little was honestly given and I knew
I was seeing things way too clearly to get any sleep.
And you didn’t even walk me home.
And I didn’t really want you to. I was just glad to be on my way.
It was sad really, racing down those stairs
just to breathe fresh air again
and keep going.
I knew my way home
and it was finally getting nice outside.