Something Holds Me Down

October 17, 2008
By Molly Pat, Puyallup, WA

Love, please let go of these hands.
Your fingers don’t fit as well as they
did, as they should. But did they ever?

I can’t remember those things I should
remember, like the disposition of your
lips or the heat lingering along the nook
of your arms; those times when your eyes
gleamed with the darkest hint of pleading
though you never let please slip your tongue.
You were too cautious and I wonder why.
Did pleading release some kind of contract
that I am still unaware of?

Love, all I wanted was for you to beg.

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