She Listened

She listened to me like I was the Grand Canyon
into which she had just tossed a pea,
like I was a giant cloud and she
was thirsty brown earth.

She leaned over and looked at me
like god had just appeared
on her iphone. She listened like
she was reading my lips with her own.

She listened to me like a customs officer
suspecting I had lied about my luggage,
like I was a coyote who had just chewed off
its own foot to escape the sprung trap

she had baited with perfection
just by listening.