It seems I always start out with the best intentions.  Maybe we all do.  But somehow I wake up one day, and find that I just couldn’t hold to them.   

In this instance,
a new relationship. 
All that promise. 
All those levels. 
And this time oh this time
I was going to take my time.   

I was going pay attention
to those fledgling recognitions
with the tiny hungry peeps
that tend to grow
to view-obstructing size
and roar until I run.   

Relationships require compromise, they say. 
No body’s perfect, they say. 
But how do you know when you are compromising,
and when you are abandoning yourself? 
How do you know when the imperfections
are really just aspects that won’t work for you. 
Is there only one way to find out? 
And is that way to try? 
To be left holding
this empty burlap sack labeled Intentions.   
Standing with sunken shoulders
and pitiful posture,
confused and pleading
to the other person
to understand
that you really wanted
to do it differently.   

That you’re sorry
you couldn’t admit to yourself
that this thing or that thing
just wouldn’t work
before you said I love you. 
It would have been better to admit
it before I said I love you.   

Tomorrow is a new day.  I wish me good luck.