She’s going to waffle
putting your affection
inside the crevices of the setting flour
because she thinks you might stick
Well, she might stick!
She’ll be sorry about it,
I thought she might stick!
but not that sorry
not sorry enough to stop
cooking all together.
Because, she’ll muse,
staring into the lightly toasted flannel batter pattern
we could still be friends
with glaring and occasionally unruly sexual tension,
but you could be friends. Still?
Friends, could you be? Stall.
Friends? Stay. You? Stasis.
Could be
stasis,
would be the best way, this
could be the best way, yes
for her to handle (and she’s sorry enough)
for you to handle (is she sorry enough?)
the door handle
against your
best judgment
against her
better intentions,
slippery like glue
the knob in your hand, try
(not) to persuade yourself
dissuade yourself
I might stick
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i really like your poetry, better than most
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