Compelling interest, that is what I said.
She did like it - that I could please so easily.
There are no truffles in my bag,
an awkwardness to each ex-grace,
though foster care be better.
Better?
Dragged,
stumbling toward forfeiture?
Improvident,
left imitating wit,
improvising sanity,
dream-fronted concoctions of aware.
Shaggier each year,
oblivous to wrinkled skin,
dependent on the rain,
the hour,
the sun,
and where the light had been.
