I asked the shiny black ball
if I should leave you.
“Reply hazy, try again.”
Great. Even this damn toy is noncommittal.
You are wavering. And wavering is different than fluttering.
Fluttering is falling.
Fluttering is feeling your heart
swell and contract,
grappling with the rush
of hormones and chemicals and arrows.
Fluttering is swinging madly toward the other
with Velcro fingers and sticky, tacky lips.
Wavering is one foot in and
one foot out.
You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself out
I told myself I would know
when it was time to call it.
When it hurt more seeing you than not.
When the air in the room felt suffocating with your breath added.
“Ask again later.”