She found him unattractive from the start
(not ugly, but so careless he appealed
to her in no way that engorged her heart
from where it beats behind its ivory shield).
She wonders why she let the link advance
(is she that hesitant to be alone
that she’ll agree to love without romance
and hide dislike in carapace of bone?)

A day has passed since last she wrote of this,
with walking, talking, dining, frontal hugs
that pleasure brought and taught her with a kiss
to be unsure again, and now she shrugs
away disdain, amorphous discontent,
and wonders with her body what she meant.