Measure

Years ago,

trust was leaning back

as you stole my reigns,

victim of a stagecoach robbery

rescued by a pommel.

Next, it was respectful denial

of flashing sabers:

Noble, feeble resistance

against your Napoleonic advances

on my unsuspecting front.

Then, it was an offer of lips

instead of a cheek;

a sensitive foot,

a gentle hand

measuring for boots.

Today, trust arrived

in a coffin-sized crate -  

a leather trunk

with carefully cut patches

and reliable brass rivets.

We wasted no time

filling it with treasures:

a few secret wishes

one somber dinner conversation

and six ambrosial peaches.

Now, trust is what we

lock out of our trunk:

The measuring tape that defines

the size of a man

as if he were a foot

in need of a sole

or an eel

in need of a soul.

4 June

Light gray couch