A Dime A Dozen

and i felt myself breathing heavy just so my ribs might touch your arm. even for that second. that was then. this isn't then. i took a couple steps back and realized what i was wagering. i decided that i must retreat and as i did i focused my attention towards the hangings on my wall. the makings of a mended portrait left here from the prior owners, and it's been here for years but the dust never seems to settle. i feel it begging with me to collapse, to let you reign and domineer this life i've tried to have. and i might be cowering but i haven't collapsed.

and i'm on the train now writing this, reflecting and the woman huddled across from me has coffee and i have nothing, and the smell is going straight to my stomach.