“I am no child of God,”
He said,
Backed up against her bed frame.

She was fascinated
By his flippant ways.
He was something
Unknown to the
Steady eye;
A vague image
Of a lover,
If ever he made
The effort to be such
A thing.

Rancorous jokes
And a chilled
Never quite breaking
Into laughter…
He is something
She never thought
She’d be close to.
Close enough,
To taste his nicotine

She wanted to
Challenge him,
But lacked
The language to do so.
All her disapproval
Was welled up
And fooled
By the charm
Of his certitude.

She would recover
Her ability to speak
At dawn,
When she might not
He was with her.
And some bit of her
Would be driven
Some piece of who
She was
Would belong to him.

That is the nature of attraction.

© Shea Depmore
Steal money.. not words.


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