Her Methodical Tongue Touched The Tip. Poem by Genevieve Surrender

Her methodical tongue touched the tip.
Their toes tickled by the warm waves.
Love was plausible,
but utterly unfathomable
the time it unfolded.

She loves herself.
She is perfect in the mirror.

But she never told him,
that she felt the same way about herself
as she did about him.

Dates in furniture stores
and eleven o'clock breakfasts
ended as abruptly as they started
in an office downtown.

Doors open
with every step forward
and every step back.

Redemption is but only
a mouse-click away.

She held his hand,
but for a brief second.
Touching him was like ice,
but thinking about him
was like a clean pair of shoes,
fresh out of the dryer.