Of course I want to believe
all the pretty ideas
never questioning
the details of sweet talk
when we're spooned
on the couch
his lips on my bare neck
each kiss more believable
than the next.
Of course I want to stop
my own story-telling
like I'm a fact-checker
with a rebuttal column
researching each kiss and
You know I love you
You know I love you
even when he was
more comfortable
retreating to the couch
from my bed
retreating to the couch
from my bed
when the whole idea
was to hold and be held
in just this one night
in be midst of busy lives.
Why after all this time
is he uncomfortable?
Why are small red flags
waving; me, suddenly
questioning all that is
supposed to be true?
And why are those
pretty ideas of us
buckling from the
vacant space?
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