Lecherous

I don’t mean to
gaze upon your girlfriend, bro.
Many apologies,
to you and to her.
I did not know that she
showed up with you
and I’ve been known
to misconstrue
many different situations
and I guess I just feel
bad.
But God,
did she ever look
to be a goddess
when she arched her back and
stretched her arms towards the ceiling and
did something so pedestrian as
yawning.
And many times afterwards
I looked her way
probably in the way that all women
feel they must say
is lecherous
and Christ,
did I ever feel the part,
but if her symmetry
and her settled gaze
and her proper black bra
(squeezing)
pushing through
her white shirt didn’t
get me going…
Soon thereafter, I realized
she was there with you.

Don’t get me wrong;
I don’t want this to come across
as an inability to recognize
her own autonomy,
and I want her to know
as much as you
that I felt remorse.
But I really want the word to know
that I really felt as though
I was slighting you
because I know you;
I recognize your gait
in such a way that I could
discern you from others
if I were to only see
shadows, waltzing over the ice
in the dark.
And you’re a decent,
creative,
and fun human being,
even though I should be true
in saying that I hate you
(out of probably proper jealousy)
for being beautiful
and for being afforded the opportunity
to garner the consent
of someone so viscerally intoxicating.
I will forgive you of this slight,
if you will forget about mine.

2 thoughts on “Lecherous

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