On Boundaries

The relationship was already over – I knew it,

maybe he did to, but I doubt it –

he wasn’t that smart, but it wasn’t

the first time I dated

not that smart.

Nor the last.

It was waking up with my dress —

soft black crushed

curled on my collarbone,

under shoulders —

I had said no, tucked my skirts

just so: I don’t think I trusted him, I

knew something was up.

It was his hands

that sealed the deal. Cease

and desist.

I never said goodbye.

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Na/GloPoWriMo Day Twenty-Nine asks us to write a meditative poem.

This is as detached as I’m going to get.