The small safe words along the borderline.
Almost enough might slip into too much.
Sometimes across a table fingers touch
second too long. Her eyelashes blonde fine

I see so clearly. Arm around her, feel
each rib; my neck, welcoming collar bone
cradle her head a moment. We can own
instants that evanesce out of the real

so careful. Luxury’s a gentle taste
spoils cloys. The evening lobster turns to stink
shell fragments massed in bins. And so I think
slow gentle noncommital’s best. No waste

excess or risk. I do not ask for more.
Overfed heart bursts, festers, breaks, is sore.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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One Response to Poem

  1. lokifan says:

    This is one of my favourite of yours, I think.

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