e n o u g h

I drown again;
I lose my breath in
brown eyes, deep-set amidst
long black eyelashes
and again the fears
are echoed in my mind
like ripples on the water:

when will you grow tired of me?
who will you leave me for –
is she more delicate, more graceful
how long before your fingers
grow cold and bored of
this body, this face?
I am no enchantress,
I only have so many tricks
up my sleeve

And in that moment I am possessed
by the common worry
of every living being,
it moves through all of us
at one time or another:
what if I
am not
enough