I’m trembling on bended knee,
praying for her to save me from myself.
I’ve proven her point to a fault.
She’s on the verge of merging onto the 401.
She intended on heading South, anywhere warmer.
I’ve wrought my intuition to knots,
trying not to speak
behind my back, but the only change is in me.
A snowstorm had her return to my arms.
Someone saved us.
Who?
I don’t know that it matters.
A wrong turns into a right move.
(© 2022 AC)
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