TTHE LURE OF JUST ONE MORE

 

The Lure of Just One More  

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Should-do’s sit stern on their perch,

A chorus of clear instructions—

Fold the laundry, scrub the sink,

Answer the emails blinking red—

Each a task etched in daylight’s demand.

But I shove them aside,

Let them gather dust in the corners,

Procrastination my quiet rebellion,

Trading duty for the siren call

Of just-one-more—

One more glance, one more word,

One more moment stolen from the clock.

They pile up, these oughts,

A tower of nagging to-dos,

Ignored as I chase the sweeter pull

Of her shadow across my hours.  

I dress my excuses in finery,

Draping them with the extravagance of words—

Elaborate alibis spun like silk,

“I’ll get to it soon,” I murmur,

“The world won’t end in five minutes.”

Each syllable a barter,

A plea for another sliver of time,

Five minutes more of her dominance,

Her control threading through my space—

A queen staking claim to my air,

Her presence a velvet rope around my will.

The room bends to her gravity,

Tasks blur into the periphery,

And I’m a willing captive,

Handing over the reins

For the thrill of her reign.  

She detours my attention,

A compass needle jerked off true north,

Pointing solely to her eyes—

Twin pools of hazel fire,

Flickering with secrets I ache to unravel,

Drawing me in like a moth to a wick.

Her sentences flow,

A river spilling from her lips,

Each word a current I wade into,

Mesmerized by the cadence,

The rise and fall of her voice—

Soft as a whisper, sharp as a blade.

I restrain myself from kissing her,

Lips tingling with the urge,

A tether pulled taut,

Fingers curling into fists

To keep from closing the distance,

To keep from drowning in her tide.  

The should-do’s fade to static,

A hum I tune out,

Their urgency dulled by her nearness—

The way she leans into the light,

Hair catching gold in the afternoon slant,

The way her laughter cracks the quiet,

A sound I’d trade empires to hear again.

I barter more than minutes now—

Whole hours slip through my grasp,

Sand through an open hand,

As I linger in her orbit,

Watching her hands dance through the air,

Tracing stories I don’t want to end.

The sink stays crusted,

The laundry sprawls like a battlefield,

And I don’t care—

Her gaze is a tether,

Her words a spell,

And I’m lost to the pull of just-one-more.  

It’s a game of delay I play,

A dance with time I’m bound to lose—

The clock ticks louder,

A metronome of guilt I ignore,

While she holds court in my chaos,

Her dominance a throne I’ve built,

Her control a chain I’ve forged.

I could rise, could mend the day,

Tick off the list with steady hands—

But why, when her eyes pin me here,

When her voice weaves a net I don’t fight?

Five minutes stretch to ten,

To twenty,

To a afternoon swallowed whole,

And I’m still bartering,

Still dressing excuses in borrowed grace,

Still restraining the kiss

That hums beneath my skin—

A want I delay,

A should-do I’ll never regret.