the montage of missed lips play on repeat
pucker, attempt, pucker again, attempt, again
over and over,
round and round
sometimes i said no
or turned the other cheek
or played dumb
because who knows how he would handle
not being kissed back with fervor and interest
who knows if he will destroy my name when i’m not around
or if he would block doors and paths out of spite
he kissed the air and missed my lips
but his grip around my neck cannot be avoided
he went for the kill, to seek revenge
i tried to ease the fall, by holding him gently in my palm
wafting down to the ground and whispering all the while
it will be okay, we can pretend
it isn’t you
i’m not ready
i’m seeing someone else
anything but honesty, which would be my kiss of death
if only i could be seen, and not wanted
if only they could balance their intrigue against their desire
but it is my doing, my trap, my ploy
it is my plot to gain, and have him lose
it is all i weave and lay, to be had to be theirs
it isn’t me, it isn’t me, this montage of near-misses
that plays intrusively on repeat
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