small, but muddled measures.

you have been most kind
in speaking slowly
and inviting me in for a few of beers
with a state of mind.

although tongue-tied myself, your talk, our conversation
this discussion that I keep having with myself
has led me to uncover
certain false answers
to life’s basic questions.

once or twice we spoke our hearts,
kissed in slow motion.

only now, we simply measure the distance from each other’s hands
that we could never really bring ourselves to touch.

but we fuck.

I’ll miss all that.

and here we are just people sitting across from one another in some bar
that is seemingly crowded when it is perfectly empty.

I’ll miss that too.

however, we seem to have a breakdown.
can I speak to the manager of this joint?
it isn't urgent and i'm not complaining.
nevertheless, I feel I should say something.
I lunge for words
as you knock them down
in accordance with your firm fluctuation between good man and bad man.
helpful phrases come to mind.
they may have even worked.

you see, I want to be a good woman.
and I can’t stand to see you be a bad man.
and this is why I am leaving.

and this is why
I am lying
when I say
I can’t see you anymore.