Kate

I went to a dance party, and I met this girl Kate.
She's pretty chill, but
I don't know.

She makes me laugh and she makes me think, but
I make her wince and I make her violent.
She is beautiful and witty.
I am handsome and I try to be witty.
She says "Thank you" and "Are you okay?"
I say "I'm sorry" and
"Are you okay?"

I haven't laughed this hard in a long, long time.
I haven't thought this hard in a long, long, longer time.
She is in so many ways a challenge and
I don't know___* if I'm not weak enough
to stand both against and with her all.

I have fucked and fucked and fucked, and have not made love in the longest time.

We'll continue this almostus, and
as she continues being her while trying me,
I'll continue dissecting her while questioning me.

*This is the second poem I've published on this blog that uses a caesura (The first was a Mom one), and it seems the blog spot doesn't understand such rhetorical spaces. The underscore [_] will from this point on be recognized as the caesura. It has merit, and I refuse to conform to the layout of the blog and sacrifice its use.