I didn’t write this poem to your overshirts & oversized tennis shoes,
Glinting masculine pride & promise.
I didn’t write this poem to admire your curved cheekbones,
Underlining eyes crowded with time, loss, & sleeplessness.
I didn’t write this poem to cause you to call me
And tell me in your DeNiro voice you want my company.
I didn’t write this poem to cause you to text me
Sweet half-threats of tender licentiousness.
I didn’t write this poem to ease your heartache,
Longing for another woman,
Yet another who got away.
I didn’t even write this as an ode to the most brazen creature
I know, a slight female with the
Scariest demeanor in three countries,
A keen eye out for every menace,
Paranoid-prepared for my defection,
At the ready to deconstruct, annihilate, all.
I didn’t write this poem to show how
Prone to lighting those matches I am, too.
I wrote this poem for me to recall
I can appreciate
What is tremendous in this world.
I wrote this poem about you to save my own life.