Haul

They said he had crazy eyes, I didn’t
stand a chance at normalcy

but the gothic veneration of the air
that circled his head

the aura over the unnatural
that he exuded control

there was something about him;
his eyes didn’t comfort me like a lover –

they stirred my threshold of stability –

I could wear my prudence right up
to my neck and clench my chest
in corsets from alarm

his superficial glance at my face
would set off;

fantasies of his deft, warm fingers
around my restrained neck

I’d wonder how true his arms were
to the muscle of pitching and tossing;

wearing his heirloom medallion
on my collar like a nun from a harem,

Haul

we would be the couple
that swallowed each other’s souls

as long as our eyes never met
in interrogative jealousies.