I try to control my nerves
following the rhythm of your left foot,
the soft clacking of your shoe heel
takes the rhythm out of the beat of my heart.
The words, from simple, restless go,
to the edge of curiosity that overflows.
I've lost count of the number of times your gaze
I've lost count of the times your gaze catches me,
and in you I lose everything.
With no desire to caress my selfishness,
I assure you that your heel-tapping is also from nerves.
It's hard to know with what rhythm you try to keep up,
while the curiosity of the words increases.
Two glasses of wine, six direct questions,
two earrings, and twice I caught you
pretending not to lose you in me.
