“Bet,” I say. I challenge you to prove me wrong.
Your laughter at the apparent nonsense coming out of my mouth
Is enough to throw you off your game.
You tell me today will be a good day.
“Bet,” I say, trying not to jinx it. I guess
I’m superstitious like that.
I’m going to do something very stupid, definitely not
What one would call a good idea.
You tell me so.
“Bet,” I say, and I add the word “twit” to the mixture,
Because, more than anything, I like the way you laugh.
If I weren’t so keen on having you stay,
I might've used heavier words.
I might've caught your hand and held it,
Told you, in the space between our pulses,
that the place where your lips force your skin to crease
is my favorite place in the entire world.
I'd tell you that, stupidly, inevitably,
with my eyes frighteningly wide open,
I loved you.
If I weren't so keen on saving face,
I'd tell you that I maybe still do.
Instead, I perfect the art of distance,
adding words to my breezy dictionary.
"Daft twit," with a coy smile, "bet," I say,
and I score that laugh,
because, more than anything, I care too much.