Radical Dishonesty

 

I remember sitting by the river bank one day with a woman.

Not just any woman, mind you.

There was history between this woman and l.

 

Teenage history–

with a gap the size of adulthood

between our past and

that moment,

on that rock along the river,

sitting peacefully

(on the outside at least).
Finally, I succumbed to the moment.

I leaned in and kissed her,

knowing that if I did,

she would stick around

long enough for me to make up my mind–

about us.

 

I kissed her and kept her in my back pocket–

waiting.

 

Feeding her just enough hope

to stay for another day.

 

Radical dis-honest-y

Dis-honor-ing

Dis-sing

her

and me.

 

 

 

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