the next mistake

the next mistake
(my second, her third)
was me offering / her asking
to help with moving into
her new house

the long day of
lifting had to be repaid
in dinner and
the wine she had been saving
and all of that went
by without mistake
until

she hugged me to thank
me after i rose to go, whereupon
the kiss (i think) aimed
at my cheek found a
different target, and we
found the floodwaters had
crept up on us unawares

and they covered us for
hours and hours of coming
up for air and fresh attempts
to find more treasure; knowing
only the seeking

constant seeking

constant motion

and the sensation of becoming
one liquid being, perfectly
interlaced and mixed and
shaken

fighting off the stillness
we had to know would eventually
come –

which was

our

next

 
mistake

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