eat three cloves of garlic,
rawness and refusal
of the fleeting comfort felt
through benefits of the doubt.
when she is sick, she’s a bitch,
infectious though she sits
no more than four feet away,
well aware of your favorite coffee.
crafting answers to fog’s smirks
and counting down days
when it’s safe to leave
may beautify, but doesn’t dilute.
you pace around, wondering
if she too got carried away
once the ivory brooch pricked into her skin
while your brothers hardly glanced her way.