This Time (Rewrite)

This time, you say. This time things
are different, because I have evolved,
you repeat, to my fickle ears
and piercing eyes. Fool me once,
shame on me. Fool me twice?
I won’t go back there this time.

This time, you repeat, I’ve grown.
I’ve read. I’ve prayed. I’ve taken.
I’ve given. I’m living. I’m prepared.
This time, I ponder. Sigh. I get it.

Get it? Is it plausible? For our precedent
was like flying on a boisterous magic carpet.
We had not a soul to cling to ensure
our safety, and it was crucial to trust
that it lands in heather valleys,
or dry river beds. That was last time.

I’ve read. I’ve prayed. I’ve heard.
I’ve taken, I’ve taken. I’ve taken.
Those last utterances are what trigger
the thunderous alarms raging
in the velvety fog of my mind.
It is essential to concentrate
on every syllable testified by valiant
lips before becoming seduced
by your (snake) charming ways.
I won’t go back there this time.

No, this time, I’m the one who ensures
that this pristine knowledge
does not slip under fragmented
floorboards. I recoil like a tabby
just beyond your soul’s access.
I retreat so that I am capable
of pouncing, if imperative,
at the blink of a cow’s eye.

This time. No, this is the last time.
I heed what you have regurgitated,
and scrutinize those translucent eyes
streaming icy pools of water
down glossy cheeks disguised
as insufferable crocodile tears.

Please forgive me, you declare
earnestly, and I truly believe you,
but you cannot accept providence,
and what has been whispered exposes
the entire story, not in the way
that you think, but in what is actual.

This time. This time is the last time.
Not next time, just this time, the last time,
time to end things all together.
I won’t go back there this time.