It was a moment for
why not,
life is short,
and other such excuses.

It was a moment for squinting
as hard as we must
so reality would not seep in.
It was a moment for smoke,
lots of smoke, and…
no, not mirrors,
definitely not mirrors.

It was a moment for pretending,
for taking what we could get,
making the best of it,
and getting it over with.
Finding release,
within the script.

I could do this all day, was acceptable.
I have fantasized about this a long time, was ok, too.
Even, I’m so turned on I want to tear you to pieces, was perfectly welcome.

I like kissing you, was not.

(There was no need.
You had me where you wanted.
There was no turning back.
Of all the kitschy li(n)es you fed me,
that’s the one that sucker-punched me,
and still sticks in my throat.

At times it makes me tear with longing.
Other times it makes me gag and heave.
Sometimes it makes me rage with questions.

Mostly, it makes it hard to breathe.)


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