Infidelity Is A Tilting Fun House Poem by Delilah Miller

It gets late, like it is,
it gets darker, but colors get brighter
and I do too.
It's when the phone call comes,
after he returns me home,
squeezing my arm to say
'Remember, I didn't kiss you;
I remember you and his all-nighters.'

I will remember,
when I'm halfway out of my window
floating towards a reviving engine.
The door opens
and the click of it
is like the light switch flicking on,
my eyes weak and my head spins.

He'll watch my hips settle in the seat,
my neck tilt as I tuck back my hair,
my arms as they come together.
No model of adoration,
just a set of eyes in the dark.
The car closes in,
a fun house twirling and jilting forever.

That is when I'll remember,
the hazy porch and how he didn't kiss me.
His fingers tapped against the wheel,
spiders impatient at the web I've woven.
Only a little lean towards my seat
and I'll know he's waited;
My warm waxy lips deserve his mouth's unique seal.
A little moonlight, and we don't regret the lips we've chosen.