true love, no. 3

3rd time, what sort of charm
materializes, out of nothing
an odd number in a mismanaged day
and yet, when all your faces
have turned away
i smile and i knock on any wooden fetish
i grin full knowing that numbers 1
and 2
have already knocked around
taken me down
but from my awkward perspective
ear to the floor
eyeballing the baseboard
heart kalumping halved between
terror and demented expectation
3 is lurking, prowling
gathering fresh angst for an assault
and if i open my door
crawl in this belittled condition
return to reality
there is the urban legend
of true love