Stubble

I was not expecting you
Here, today
Or ever
But here you are
Clearly ready to see me
To see my face in rawness
Shocked and unprepared
I’m embarrassed about my hair
I was not expecting you
To push it behind my ear
Run your finger down my spine
Or open that door
I’m teetering on the threshold
Gripping the frame
I must seem like a painting un-matted
Bleeding off the edges
Or a novel with too many endings
Badly in need of editing
But who has time to do that work?
Who has the energy when there are
So many enthralling stories to tell?
I was not expecting you
To fill this notebook
I would have shaved if I were expecting you.