delicious disgust

on

Doesn’t like to be understood.
Me, or him? Both?
I like the idea.
Of being understood, or understanding him? Both?
Knew from the start. Always
trust your instinct.

Aware, yet unwilling to completely resist.
Both of us.
Which is the problem?
Awareness makes it
harder.
Unwillingness to resist makes it
delicious.

Sincere for a flash, as fast as a smile
creeps from my eyes to
the crooks of my lips.

A few memories,
tense conversations
Mainly imagined scenarios…
Perhaps for the best, or a waste? Both?
I like neither idea.

Is it real? Is he to me? Am I to him?
On different wavelengths, pitches,
but somehow complimentary.

Like two musical notes, rarely and whimsically
juxtaposed, who once hoped for a symphony, but
settled for a jingle.
Catchy,
unshakeable,
a short burst.

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