The committee of my better self
convened at half past nine,
reviewed the evidence,
the risk,
the bottom line—
voted unanimously
to leave,
to walk,
to be the man
who finally holds the discipline,
who finally ran.
Then she crossed the room
and settled onto my lap,
and the chamber emptied out,
gavel unused,
no second for the motion,
no time for the gap
between resolution
and the absolute dissolution
of the plan.
My body overruled the vote.
I had the speech prepared.
I had the exit mapped.
The car keys ready in my grip,
cold metal promise of retreat.
She ran her finger down my forearm—
one touch, and the grip let slip.
Every resolution,
every boundary,
every carefully constructed fence—
gone.
My body overruled the vote
because the body
knows something the brain forgets:
the brain is reasonable.
The body is the flood
that takes the reasonable
and drowns it in her heat,
in her perfume threaded through my blood,
in the half-inch between her mouth
and my ear
where every vote
went south.
The defeat tasted sweet.