He hesitates, tasting
the words you might say.
So before he can go
Beat a retreat.
of word and sword and pent-up emotion;
Pull back your soft sweet body.
There's musing on the faces
of the winos and the waitresses and
the loveless all around.
That's scary, you realize.
They're always thinking.
So I think I'll do more than retreat--
and you withdraw.
And it feels good.
And it smells of hiding in veins.
And it is okay to not be there, you
tell him later.
But he doesn't understand.
He couldn't, you guess.
There's no one with arms wide enough for your little-girl soul.