With Caution by Alissa Grist
I bare myself to you. So much
time spent in parking lots,
leaning. Not too close
lest we touch, aside from
your red pen on my white paper
away from lights,
people, bare skin.
Two years worth
of eyes and coats in constant
escape. The assumptions which led
to beer and these parking
spaces we occupy. I don’t know
to push across
your fading lines.
The eyes which stalk, fingers
and pens creep closer to truth.
There’s no escaping our
parking lines and the times I
stood alone looking down
wondering.
