Thought I would try a villanelle for today’s prompt: Write a tentative poem.
I cannot remember the last time I slept
soundly in a man’s arms. My mind’s at work
planning ahead, hoping our promises are kept.
You say taking it slow is better, except
my desire is left hanging like a question mark—
unsure, urgent like a baby’s first step.
But my only fear is that you’d rather let
our time wind down in a natural arc.
No need to make plans unlikely to be kept.
I’m used to giving my all and receiving neglect,
reaching for true love (an arbitrary benchmark?)
that is urgent and unsure like a baby’s first step.
It would be easier for my heart to accept
your goodbye kiss and not this irreverent spark
that plans for a future unlikely to be kept
like the unsure urgency of a baby’s first step.
~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013