The old lover
handsome in that rugged way
comes to your table
holds out his hand
and asks you to dance.
You know you can follow
that ancient desire
into his arms
two-step across the scuffed wood floor
intoxicated by a mind-fogging cologne.
But then you remember
how, in his aggressiveness,
he steps on your toes
and flings you across the room.
You recall that jittery discomfort
the excitement hangover the next day,
and the remorse
you slammed into.
So instead you call on the Beloved
smile and decline the offer.
You move into the Comforting Arms
and waltz in the smooth, floating glory
Image by Amalesh Krien