We’re overlooking the river when
I tell you about how it took me three years
to discover Ann Arbor has a river.
It was a story that ended
With a woman proclaiming
“These river cities.”
You enjoyed it
I could feel your joy and admiration
Explode off your skin like solar flares
I almost kissed you
Almost again
But I held back.
(I play it safe with my body, not so much with my heart)
After the first missed opportunity I promised
To not let it slip by me again but I did
I held back a second time.
It would have been a beautiful moment
Wondrous and mystic
Which I happen to prefer over the mundane and drunken
When I kiss you
I won’t be stoned
And I won’t be drunk
When I kiss you
So far the feedback on this one has been:
I’m not sure what the river is about and perhaps you could tie the mystery of the river to the mysteries of relationships. Or I could tell the story of my discovering the river and have that bleed into the moment.
I’m unsure what I’m gonna do. I’m going to remove the parenthetical and I’m going to keep “almost again” And I’m really concerned that sensing her admiration is a bit…arrogant?