She’s past the point of contagion
Sugar sweet and abrasive.
What was it worth(?), the body-perfectly pleasing;
Only when she stands up straight, H. Erectus.
What thought is worth in calculation…
Small, he was, for meaning; and meaning what
Itself is small, known well toward assumption.
Well within circumference, it all passes, wanes in phases
He thinks of charm as well wrought syllables
Should be so much, should bridge strong concrete stilt the distance
But he undermines intelligence; big words fall far out of context
He thinks she doesn’t notice
She’s indifferent, numbed nerve sensation, because she listened
Ever attentive, she caught his mistakes cast arrogant
And stomached it
Fought hard the upsurge impulse to drag the undertow
And fell him
She did
Win.

Miranda-Paige Erwin