Wednesday, October 29, 2014

I am making us lists

Whimsy dictates: you were immortalized on her person
before the first rays of the sun illuminated the city.

Taken to heart. Really.
You are akin to a very large body of water in my veins.

And while sleeping trumps everything,
sleep is a small price to pay
to get the conversation going.

"I have to pause to take your words in, to let them envelope me, and I swear,
they almost feel like the way you run your fingers languidly across my skin.
For a moment there, I can feel you right next to me."

What is returned, when one extends something
far more generous that what was agreed upon.

You say
I say -- hey.

Here's the thing about writers (no matter how tiny) -- they rarely forget, enforcing what they remember or try to retain, with a few words here and there, a misplaced poem, little missives of absolute adoration.

I don't know if you should count yourself lucky. 

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