Sour Apple

The door hinge reminds me of you.

Quiet, predictable. Movable only to someone

Who tugs and wrestles you open.

Come in softly, creeping.

Leave grudgingly.

Leave me in my convenience

For you. I suppose I’m like the door.

Please don’t look at me like that.

I call you confusing, you say enigma.

I’m not surprised you don’t understand.

But you know me,

Even without understanding.

Here and gone and here

What is it that you want?

Smile again and break my heart.

You’re having fun.

Sour apple lips and a pear tongue.

I unwrinkle your shirt,

Erasing myself,

All you say is, thank you.