I don’t have a poem for you

you don’t feel volatile

I am sputtering like a flame someone left too close to

            an open window

but you are not the chilly night air

you are not the frayed wick

I still haven’t figured out what you are

you are like deja vu with pretty eyes

seeing a splintering of a thousand potential futures

they all exist because none of them exist and I am

floating on the air above reason

 

I waver

I know my hand conceals behind my back

 something far too sweet

     far too tempting

I won’t even let myself look

 and I don’t know

   how strong you are