When someone close tells me they’re a terrible liar,
I can’t help but wonder if they’re a really good liar
and if I would trust-fall into their arms
on a supporting girder under the Lion’s Gate bridge.
if I would let them choose my day’s clothes
from my closet while I stand by, eyes closed.
or if I would ever close off the world,
my head resting on their shoulder
(…or if that would be mutually weird.)
if I could expose my mind to let
it be the most naked,
if I could describe, say, the phantom pounds of guilt
that dog-pile on my back, sometimes
to invite them to the way
I hear, smell,
remember and forget
the world…
Not that she’s asking.
But something about this surrender of her own,
Not just those words,
but her eyes flashing up into mine
cheeks rising
chin tilting down
head slowly shaking to a settle
and I want to surrender, too.
