Risk

True, I won't risk
the brisk shallow swallowing
of orgasmic love-fests
that your open mouth offers
me.

It's a trick, I won't
lick clean like the hungry
self-possessed person that I am,

but flattery will
get you everywhere
with me;

soon you'll learn to
see the signs with me.

Soon, you'll learn to
stay inside the lines with
me, no matter how I might
act to the contrary.

It's hard to kick the habit
of solidarity. It's harder still
to move from the city, to the
sticks, and expect the same
lively mix of what-ifs. The
same rifts of opposing street
corners.

A different set of shifts, each
blooming moon-cycle, booming
mood swings, our love affair
standing on the cliffs of self imposed
exile, and it's harder to step back
then to step forward - at least if I take that
leap, my eyes will be forward, and
I can see what's coming, because risk
is hardly second nature to a girl like me.