I do not think
I would invite anyone
to come and meet a man
who told aloud every
thing I’d ever done.
I might, instead,
invite him to lean
deep over the well;
inviting an accident; surely not
one more thing to tell.
This is how you make it
hard for me to linger
long under the noonday
haze; shivering heat
of your penetrating gaze.
Love is a low blow.
Lean in, you say, see,
deep underground living waters flow,
and I fall;
you have brought me low.
