Starting to Fall

“She then: ‘How you digress!’”
—T. S. Eliot, ‘Conversation Galante’

Take my hand and dance?
You are the loveliest girl at the disco.

All the songs sound awful tonight—
It would not be the best time to try anything.

Yet here I am—asking you—so please don’t reject me:
That could feel like childhood; I’d never recover.

Though I am certain you will: that’s how the music plays.
When I’m sad, I write my best—

I’m looking for someone that understands this
And stops me writing: I don’t want to publish a thing.

If there is a flower in the mud, I don’t trust it.
Isn’t that a shame? Would you say that’s weird?

I’m not sure how it works, dancing.
I always assume they’re going to stop, but

I did ask genuinely, at least
At first. Though ignorantly. When I was younger,

We used to fish. This is the part where you tell me
To go fix that, isn’t it: it’s my shit.

I’m not sure when to be vulnerable.
When to I say I see signs

In the strobes.
Ah! That’s why you’re here then!: you are like that

Too? Probably why you’re sitting on the edge
With me. If a car alarm goes off, do you think

It’s for you? I am balancing, girl—yes. But it nearly
Writes well. Real well. Nearly.

No don’t stop me! Best not to
Trust me. But girl, you look like a beautiful flower.

Can we finally dance? Can we not stop?
I know: just awful, isn’t it,

After the ceiling. I tried to begin with.

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