Flirted

with you, all my minor obsessions
restrain unready epoch-makers
never once thought: why build?
here in a room full of too many saws
it’s the teeth that fit the job that sates
not far from the edge of your laugh
alone, it’s the love of old lions
who wonder whom to follow
with no instinct left to hunt
not every tread of grass is a path
the way ancestry is laid out for
first triangles carved on the chin
not every line becomes a box
if today is a good time to close