thin lines
uneven eyes
white lies
in summertime
drinks in that old bar
honest words won’t get us far
two rounds
and then a third
stumbling on our every word
blissful nightfall
scolding time
the thief of memory
hands intertwine
still remains
a void to fill
a few steps closer
i hope you will

there is such a thing called the poet's daffodil; Narcissus poeticus
one of the first daffodils thought to have been cultivated
a perennial, meaning: existing infinitely
continuously enduring
and always recurring

i first planted my seeds for you
many years ago
staring intently, i watched us grow among the weeds

you had an aura about you
i wanted to know more;
what made you the happiest?
& what kept you up at night?

eventually
i found myself close enough
to see the way
your hazel eyes catch the light
in all the right places
reflecting the colors of the world around you,
pulling in the things that inspire you
and just for a moment,
watching as they become a part of you

but i never needed to be close
because even far away,
i can see
your smile, when you allow it to show
your willingness to jump into the things that scare you
your passion,
determination,
and a laugh that could only be yours

you are the calmness
in a storm of my emotions
making me feel safe
a reminder to breathe
because everything is not always what it seems

the poet's daffodil
is the story of us
a recurring delight
who has endured much pain
and yet after all this time,
feelings still remain infinite

I still look for you in every truck that passes.

6 months and still no sign that you continue to exist in this world
in something more than my memory.

Did anyone ever tell you I was back in town?
Have you gone searching for me?
Do you know what you've done?

You don't know the risk that I take
every time I leave my house.
Preparing to succumb
to a numbness of flashbacks.
Still hoping that our lives
do not cross paths again.

But I'm ready,
nonetheless,
to plot my escape.
If ever we are boxed in;
in gas stations or supermarkets
in dog parks or local bars.
The bright red lights of each exit sign;
embedded into my memory.
They are the light at the end of a sunless journey.

My plans aren't guaranteed, though
because I don't know what I'd do
if I were to ever see your face again.
I think that'd I run.

It wasn't until today; 6 months later,
that I wondered why I've been looking
for the person that frightens me the most.

So I won't look at the trucks that I pass as I drive.

I don't care if you're in them.

i always felt
like i was lost
in a field of wildflowers
-
-
i could be plucked out
at any time
and things would still remain
beautiful