My secrets escape their meaning
when we’re in different beds, itching
like bedbugs for a truce.
I missed the toxic warning label between your thighs.
I slit my vulnerability, dreaming
about forgiving you.
How far away do I have to stay?
Worlds apart boil the passion we shared
last summer.
Getting this off my chest
only to later touch your breasts
keeps my head above still waters.
Can we pretend this is ambiguous?
The meaning is subjective,
with a purpose hidden in the lines.
Can we roleplay a nightmare?
The one where you say I do?
When autumn comes calling,
wait by the Gazebo in your red dress.
We both know you’re not pure enough
to wear white.

(© 2022 AC)

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