Sunday, March 11, 2007

In my natural habitat I am awkward and without charm, timing slightly off like a satellite delay. Always thirteen, knock-kneed and anticipating falling just a little bit short.

Listening, I flinch from that most seductive of pronouns as from a blow. My fingerprints and the small of my back treat each "we" as a promise, never minding the slideshow my brain is presenting of all the times that didn't work. Each one travels the paths of my spine like champagne bubbles, and I am always going down with my own poorly constructed ship. I won't learn my lesson. Can't.

And so I wait for something to happen, impatiently and likely gracelessly, but waiting nonetheless, where I once would have declared waiting off limits. This is a corner I have little hope of being invited out of, having put my horse miles to the rear of my cart, and likely fooling no one anyway. The soft smile before a first kiss is a leitmotif for my more wistful daydreams, a life raft in otherwise vast and empty waters.

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