Bite tongue tightly, unnecessary
but polite. She knows.
Seating arrangements
not close enough for comfort.
One kiss captured, stored
for future recollection
and hopeful repetition.
After professions of
damn near obsession
came the solitary six.
Isolation, cut outs.
Same page, different books
no longer known territory.
Always left to wonder.
Fear in numbers, or
in this case a single letter.
Post script attempt,
proved moot at best.
I’m glad you aren’t as perceptive
as you seem to think, or at least
polite enough to spare me.
You know.
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