I’ll live like a bug
in the space between
for my version
of hide and seek.
I’m bull-headed and pig-hearted.
This artificial attack,
I’m begging to feel
on my way to the wooded cabinet lot.
It’s about accepting a person for all the people they would fuck and prefer to be with. That’s accepting love. You know you’re a second option but they have never met their first. A future build on possible flirtation. A future of possible alcoholism.
Most of our relational battles begin
in some small, evil crevice of our cranial flaps; I would like a lobotomy to that sector.
As I grow older, I will see my mind slip away on a youthful pier. Even now, I can create a thought and see it slip away. I can’t lasso it; I’m not even a cowboy.
We forgot how to put down a mobile device and express subtle forms of flirtation.
The eyes are less misconstrued than digital, emotionless messages.
You are as old as you will be,
and as young as you will.