You call it a dalliance. You think I will like the word. The way you have to curl your tongue against your teeth to make the sound, the way you can slide right off the ending. You think this word will please me, that its poetry will distract me from the question I have asked you.
But it creates the smallest of fissures in my heart, this word. This pretty, empty word and what it really means:
I have asked you if you understand that this is an affair, and in your answer you have accidently and honestly defined our relationship. This is recreation, this is the sport you play on Thursday nights. I am a diversion from the terrible importance of your everyday life and you are content with this definition.
I have been too light across your skin to leave the impression I desire. You think only of how this breaks you out of your life. You never consider that in finding you, I might finally break in to my own.