Sense his eyes peering over my words, imagining
My curls falling over the page as the blue ink
Bleeds my thoughts, envisions them blond, soft
Today he is wrong. Turn my ring back to the light,
To my gaze, though I care nothing of its color or luster
And the more I think of it, the more I want free of
It’s suffocating clinch. “Think of something else.”
I’d tap, but avoid annoying myself with the repetition.
Return, thinking of him over today’s obsession, reading
My words until he is ready to quote them back to me.
Nothing profound to say, nothing worth repeating
or to wince at—nothing to send at me like small darts.
Remember in my youth the way he would
Thrust them at me, turn me red, furious.
Boy, he had a way of that, setting me on fire
Not knowing if I should hit or kiss him, wanting both.
Kept me on my toes—I liked that, smart, passionate,
Creative—return to my vision of him, tired,
After working the night shift, slumping over the keys,
Light glowing off his cheeks—he gets to this line, smiles
Briefly recalls our fights though even when he was right, harsh.
I was the tomboy wrestling who he melted like water
into the girl, so kind, loving.