Saturday, October 1, 2011

Flowers.

It's October already,
But this morning felt like late November
Of last year.
Almost exactly like the first time I came to Hattiesburg
To see Zac romantically, a way in which I never thought I would.
And my first cigarette of the day tasted like the first ride up here
When an old friend said:
"You know, you jump around a lot"
Because, in the beginning of my reputation's end
I'd almost ended up with him.
And I knew he held everything he'd heard against me,
But I fought the statement valiantly:
"I'm just trying to prove that you men aren't all the same," I said as the moonlight played
Shadows on my tired face, and my cigarette burned brightly in the passenger seat of the Caddie,
"judging by experience, it seems that you all want the same thing."
He asked what that thing was, already knowing my answer
And I told him what had happened to me
The first
Second, third
Every time;
I told him the line that has become my slogan,
My fall-back answer for why I don't date:
"I'm good enough to sleep with, yes,
But to commit to? Never."
No one wants to spend an eternity,
Or even a false-promise of forever
With me.
That's okay, though, because that's not quite what I'm looking for.


I just want something to settle into for a little while,
And if it happens to turn into quite a while,
Or even a long time,
You won't find me complaining
At all.

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