an infinite history of short loves

this one is

not to be published but

here i am

again at that

feeling of wistful freedom

after a few days, or

weeks, never even

months of minor misgivings and

doubts and then a moment of decision,

or occurrence, really, like

finding one's breath after

touching the bottom of the pool or

capturing the flag or

dancing around on the

lawn summer

joys simple joys skin

to skin to lip to cheek to

eye and shoulder that

linger sometimes smoulder

sometimes burn out.

i get soft

quickly but only

for those days,

weeks, never even

months where i hold other

hands and now this one

slant of my

shoulder seizes, a little

fidgety a little untethered

collar slipped

so free from everyone but those

who know i tie myself in

tight hugs, that i don't

run too much, only when the

frontier gets fenced,

only when the

way each story starts

then stops and i, content a beginning

even began, feel

maybe i should

feel more remorse it

ended but everything moves

in circles

right? everything moves

in circles until

two ends

meet?

(february's)