Control

For my hunting buddy, @LittleHuntress

This is me when I attempt to love in secret: the ball flings
to somewhere over the fence; my foot still thinks it did right,
and that it had never meant to strike a goal anyway. I lose control.
In my hand, I hold something that looks like a sword
or a fighting object, which I grasp tightly. Nobody
should ever take this from my possession. I use it to block people
away or hit them with, albeit not too often. Then I take my hoodie
and put on my cap. I will look like a rider for a while—dark, secretive,
mysterious—and with my weapon, I will destroy uncompromisingly.

But in my head, I am lying on the shoreline, loosening myself,
thinking of hourglasses and wineglasses unsparingly. And somehow,
I am able to bring the lost ball back again.