Chad Parenteau

Too Late to Be a Love Poem

 

Years of carelessness.

Now when I fuck, I have

a safecracker’s lack of abandon.

 

You saw my hands held out

while frolickers hung coats on them.

 

You flew free unexpected,

like numbers spilling

from combination locks.

 

You yearned to be spun faster.

I hoped to hear something click.

Too Late to Be A Love Poem, Part 2

 

Mind

flips between

sex and death

 

using

a coin

that I suspect

 

is

double sided

with skull faces.

 

I

want you

to take it,

 

spin

it on

my mind's floor,

 

despite

all of

its loose boards.

 

I'll

only lose

if you stop.