runaway

“you’re my favourite,” he says in a low voice and kneels beside me and i dwindle off my seat. i promised myself i would be good, that these knees would be the braces of my body, that to bend would repel my compass. he beckons me to come closer and i notice for the first time those dimples that inveigle my bones to turn toward him, to become one merging blob under an infrared heat detector. i am young, he is young, but there is a definite place where we should each be and it is not in the other’s waters.