he was drawing on the table top
with gems of sugar and lines of mustard
and a knife -
he was laughing, watching me move
not-so-gracefully around the floor,
re-arranging,
re-cleaning,
re-naming.
he was making something i couldn't see;

when he got up, he kissed my cheek -
told me that he'd marry me.
i laughed. told him to buy a ring.
turned two times around, never saw him
leave;

too late to tell the truth.
but maybe it wasn't too late, just too ignoble;
even if he were joking, it would be my ideal.
even if HE is something i have always fought against -

it was only when i looked back at the table
and saw a perfect recreation of dancing, imperfect me,
that i realized maybe he was serious.