Certain privileges, prerogatives
to come and go as she pleases,
she’s more like a cat than a cow,
sometimes leaving reasons to return
now, like ex-lovers can, dancing
at safe distances out of reach
and out of touch. I don’t begrudge
her company, her gossamer veil
or frivolous wet kisses—she does
what she wants. We don’t have to be
in love, but his ground needs more—
and repeated thunderstorms of lust.
drycrikjournal 