the phrase instantaneously registers,
dutifully stored for a new baby composition,
for all my future lovers and you dear reader,
“move at the speed of trust”
too young to justa rush into,
too old to justa rush from,
y’all inquire “what’s the right speed,
when the hunger pains of now-need,
instantaneously beg for get-no(w)-satisfaction?”
move at the speed of trust,
whoa, the resonating free ringtone
clangs like a fireball,
sounds sensible
but sensible and love
are words illegal to use in a poem, and,
about trust, as surely past burnt lovers
will happily remind you at every chance,
trust means bust fifty percent in romance
every instinct says go, fall, let it happen,
except for the bass squeaky one,
from the rear mezzanine cheap seats,
low and slow toned, hey remember me?
trust, my name is trust, here to remind you
that justa trusting yourself will never prove wrong,
that’s the lesson of now-need, fifty percent anyway
in matters romantic
