Drinking Coffee

I find her eyes to be discomfiting. They strip me of my defenses faster than I can build them, and I wonder how you can stand it.

I have not eaten today, and we’ve been here hours. I am shaking with it, hunger and fear, because I cannot eat under her gaze.

Old fears rise and under her eyes I am only who I am.

Fat, bumbling, clumsy. I cannot pretend; I will choke.

So my food sits untouched, and we still talk and talk, and God help me, she will have to dismiss me

because I am pinned.

We talk about you.  Of course we do, I am the past, she is your future.

I have been here so many times, on one side, then the other. Other woman, discarded past, playing every part in this re-run drama. I feel old, and want to go.

Instead we talk, and she takes every word from me. Helplessly I scoop my soul out and spread it on the table for her.

Your plans are so delicate. A finely woven web of crystal, built on want and this curious rosy colored ideal.

I see it now, wrapped around her like a blanket, and I want it to work. Not for you, even though I love you, but for her. For her eyes, for her delicate fingers, for her lithe mind, and vulnerable, submissive heart.

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