I see her, not on a gloat box
casting attention a hundred directions at once,
great magic show,
but I glimpse her tools and they are good.
She is good.
Pure heart.
No facades.

I don’t see a future.
I see a possibility.
I see backstage when
the rings and the heels
come off.

The rumble tumble
is the awkward hesitation to let
an unknown cross into
the circle.
Trust is sloooow.
Romance trails miles behind.

Oh, I need her brain.
No question.
I have holes to fill in my life.
The beautiful chaos of
mixing our minds disrupts
plans laid out for years.

There will be hell to pay
when we know each other.
Destruction for miles.
Send out the invitations.

Whiskey hiccups
as the floor creeks
on my way to pee
feet brace against
sway