Duration

If I’ve learned anything
about relationships
it’s that
love
needs to simmer.

When you take it like a shot,
it’s only gonna drop
before long.

Sure, you’ll float on it
briefly
but the pedestals
on which you built
to supplement
the substance it
was lacking
will crumble at the slightest doubt.

And you’ll walk out
carrying with you an empty space
full of questions.

But we’re not blessed with
a debrief,
a clinical evaluation
to pinpoint
where it all went wrong.

All we get are
algorithmic memories
curated to make us wonder
what could have been
if we’d just given
it
time.

Step Nine

The apologies
I am still waiting on
do not sustain me.
They are not a
main course,
but dessert—
not something I need,
not something I’ll feed off
but
they would still taste
so
sweet
coming at the end of this all.

Ourselves

The first drip of consciousness
a syrupy awareness
that rolls through your body
and leaves you wanting more

The second that you notice
the sunlight from the curtains
that swirls through the stale air
and plays along the floor

The third shot of espresso
a jittery essential
that carries you onward
and lets you face the day

And all for what purpose?
A fleeting sense of impact?
The flickers of connections
before they fade away?

What are we chasing?
What are we escaping?

Who are we kidding?

Taking the Plunge

When did the pressure of perfection
take precedence over putting 
pen to paper 
for the sake of
weaving words together 
to wrap around a moment
preserve it and cloak it in
the curves and sweeps 
and hurried strokes it
takes to get it out
before it’s gone?
The words have been
inside us all along
but we fight the currents,
running out of energy and time 
when
instead,
if we just leaned back,
leaned in,
slowed 
down,
we’d float instead of drown, we’d
breathe easy, we’d 
write freely 
without a second glance back at the shore,
without a second thought of needing more.