What I Know

She is hard 

to know 

to the same degree 

that I am over-

ly cautious in my 

exhertations.

So these flirtations continue – 

tug of war, red rover, freeze tag, 

duck duck goose – 

not in spite of 

but because of our watered-

down protestations.

I do know what 

we both do, 

sending our voices down 

wells, (and sighs),

waiting for the splash, however 

distant, 

of recognition.

though not

instant.

I do know that not 

knowing each other, we 

will search our various mirrors and 

will watch our shadows, 

grabbing the whims and undulations 

we hope the other 

will intuit.

I do know that our preenings 

and our primpings of our words, 

our touch-ups and our fixes, will be 

done not just 

in the spirit of the daily repair, 

but with at least a little 

assumption towards 

our imaginations' dreams of unknown 

connotations.

I do know that she takes 

little notice 

of my end of the dialogue;

She thinks I – 

well, you would have to 

ask her yourself.

I do not pretend 

to know her thinks, 

her knows, her uncertains, 

her wants.

But this is head knowledge, 

and quickly forgotten,

I suggest, when the rope 

I am holding is burning 

through my fingers, 

callusing my hands, 

tugging me to 

this chasm between us, 

this abyss, another

here-we-go-again moment where she 

does not even know that she is holding 

the other end, merrily twirling the rope 

this way and that in her comings and 

goings, tying it up and letting it down, 

jumping it as one would so much floss, 

the better to rid oneself of unnecessary 

debris.

© 2012 – Mark A. Douglas – All Rights Reserved