Fast Forward

Love decks itself in plaid and flannel.
Reconstructions of self sway to and 
fro, reflecting and charming vices, so
as not to offend too much or too little.
We all want to be wooed, wined and dined,
coddled and humored inconspicuously, 
deliciously. Memories swim together like
soup we season with just the right amount
of harsh and sweet, bitter and luscious.
Our reflections, an amalgam of wandering
and wondering, wayward and steady as she
goes, belonging mixed with surprise. We
are never as sure of anything as we
appear. It is never as long or as short
as we think it's going to be.
These moments
all seem
so infinite.