When am I writing about you?
Ha! When am I not writing about you?
Always and never not writing about you.
Because - you are all of the dreams
the smokey, hazy, steamed-up-car-windows things
in my head.
The world enters me through my pupils
and you enter me through my mind.
I've seen your (cha)grin in all its beauty
and imagined your fleshy palm with leaf-like lines to read
indecipherable to me, but I’d gaze happily
lying on the shore of time.
I thought about loss today and how people come and go
and the eternity of written words that we repeat endlessly
sentiments that everyone always felt ever before again
and we, still unique despite our sameness, reflect each other.
I thought about selfishness and
how selfish it is
to want all of your attention.
You whispered about discomfort. I’m glad I can have some effect.