By the end of the night
not even friction
can help me
from slipping
(pale porcelain waiting for some company)

I hate it
The whole time
I think to myself,
never again, never again
(as I lean over his cold body)

But I close my eyes
and soon enough
it’s Friday again

So I reach into the cupboard for
a tall glass and
before I know it
there I am
(in that familiar awkward embrace)

Remember that swan trapped in the ice?
How we helped set her free?
Some day, I hope someone
does that
for me

So deceiving
were the
subtle movements,
the conversation
that kept me
thinking,
the different
perspective
I thought I
was getting.
It’s almost funny,
how
for a moment
I was duped –
bright-eyed,
optimistic.
Almost.