As I sit inside twenty
I find my thoughts mutually exclusive.
I reach to grasp in my hand,
two things
that do not coexist.
The constant motion of my days,
unattached and reckless,
bring fear to the idea
of entanglement
that would inevitably slow me down.
Yet the deep desire for a handful
of roses at my doorstep
lingers after every empty compliment
paid by lovers who do not love me.