Oh! Table! How I have loved your veneer!
Your false striations seemed so real.
And I prayed for friction—

Give me your grain to grasp
so I can stop drifting
but I'd never velcro to your stability,

I could only feel my body more
worn smooth, over-ripe from so much change.

I came to your ledge knowing you'd not miss me;
you had so much weight to bear,
the chargers, the china, the severed heads
of more saintly fruits.

Still, at your edge I hesitated
frozen in the moment's frame
secretly wanting someone to talk me down.