You must have a baby devil and angel
at each cheek, tugging and pulling
like reins at your ears. You must
sway back and forth, feel
like a rocking horse—no control.
In some ways, we are alike. But see,
I practice restraint. I blame
my Mars in Virgo. Astrologers
know what that entails: my fire—
sex, war, and anger—compressed
into order, cleanliness, delay.
You think every kiss arrives quickly
and lasts forever. I know
it takes years, sometimes decades,
to form, then vanish fast.
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