Over and over

The pitbull curls up next to me with

a big sigh and I remember it is a privilege 

to have an animal that could certainly maim me 

choose not to – and trust is really

a choice, made over and over again

until your stomach is sick with 

bribes.

In Antigone, Creon says,

no wound strikes deeper than love that is turned to hate  

and I'm sure it's saying something

that I haven't lost any of my lighters

yet and

sometimes I feel like a misunderstood woman

but that really would be giving myself

both too much credit and 

none at all, 

the excuses I used to make 

don't hold up anymore.  

Fucking is more than coming when 

you really want to stay –  

like when you open an old book

you haven't read in awhile and a piece 

of paper slips out, lands softly in your lap,

and you cry and eventually forget 

but it never goes back in the book 

in the same place.

 

Man's best friend began sleeping 

by the fire out of necessity,

a relationship blossomed for evolutionary purposes

but isn't it funny 

that comfort softens you into a different looking species –

I am more than I ever have been,

returning to the time before the warmth 

and even if I curl up next to you 

let it begin with me.