All those uncertain emotions,
suspicions, she brings glimpses
of another world I can’t trust
anymore. Gone so long
to God knows where,
wreaking havoc on TV.
The perfect pastoral scenes
too good to be true—
my mind leaps like a child
rolling downhill
through ripening wild oats
over my head.
I am afraid
to look her in the eye,
afraid she’ll see
my anticipation pulse
with wanting. I am
her supplicant, and
in truth, her slave.
How she controls me!
I look away.
drycrikjournal 