Almost

We had—almost—an affair. You almost ran your fingers through my hair. I almost kissed the almonds of your toes. We almost loved, that’s always how love goes. You almost contemplated using Nair and adding henna highlights to your hair, while I considered plucking you a Rose. We almost loved, that’s always how love goes. I almost found the words to say, “I care.” We almost kissed, and yet you didn’t dare. I heard coarse stubble grate against your hose. We almost loved, that’s always how love goes. You almost called me suave and debonair (perhaps because my chest is pale and bare?). I almost bought you edible underclothes. We almost loved, that’s always how love goes. I almost asked you where you kept your lair and if by chance I might seduce you there. You almost tweezed the redwoods from my nose. We almost loved, that’s always how love goes. We almost danced like Rogers and Astaire on gliding feet; we almost waltzed on air ... until I mashed your plain, unpolished toes. We almost loved, that’s always how love goes. I almost was strange Sonny to your Cher. We almost sat in love’s electric chair to be enlightninged, till our hearts unfroze. We almost loved, that’s always how love goes.