Love is Death

She blew a drag in my face
and ignited my lungs with a cough.
We talked over dinner last night but nothing more.
I tasted a chalky sedative.
My weighted eyelids see what she sees in me;
the restrained person she’d been afraid to be.
She roped me to the bed as if I’d been
sentenced to death for the crime of telling her I was into her.
No guy has ever meant it, she told me.
I explained I didn’t have it in me to lie.
She cracked a smile a mile a minute.
I guess what I’m saying is: You’re more than a friend — as in,
I’m falling in love with you.
And now, I’m as good as dead.
Instead, she said that her doubting me was dead.

(© 2022 AC)

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