this used to be patience

I won’t be back
in five years’ time,

he said to me
over fruit tarts
and lukewarm tea.

we wanted more
than anything
to swallow
ribbed entireties
of croissants
the size of fists,

bowing inward
and blandly resigned.

I planned ahead
as you stood frowning
and decidedly recited
dates upon dates
when my twilight sneezes
delayed the drive to work,

amidst traffic matted
with candied knots
once wishfully untangled.

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