“Just stay still,” she said,
as she tightly held my hand.
“Don’t fly away, too.”

Write me something sensational.

Write me something profanely profound.

Write me your blithest tragedies.

Write me your sweetest fears.

Just write me--

Release the poet in you

as you bring out the poet in me.

You smiled the first time
when I fell off a ladder;
when I chased dogs and horses
and got trampled on by the latter.

You smiled the second time
when I drank a bottle of dew--
with crickets, grasshoppers
. . .well, to name a few.

You smiled the third time
Oh, your teeth were truly flawless
that I ended up gazing,
and drooling in the process.

And when you smiled the fourth time,
I wished you, too, had an ill bearing--
so you'd mindlessly misplace
that band of vow you were wearing.

It was a dream.
It was.

When you held me in your arms;
a sweet minute of slumber
and abated fallacy.
When you looked at me
with digestive eyes; I guess
never was I impervious.
When you planted
a damp kiss: Illusion's flower
and saw me off.

It was a dream.

When you sighed into my ear
a madness so warm yet
so morosely beautiful. (I...)

It was a dream.

When you drove under the stars
above asphalt black and cold,
on that crying night of June. (Save...)

It was a dream.

When I watched your
lips darken with the ashen sky;
and you laid unmoving. (...me.)

And it was a dream.
It was.

I just never was able to rouse.

Annie,
oh Annie!
You pretend to be a friend.
Funny,
it's funny--
I'd miss you now and then.
Really,
I'm weary--
you'd see me "only when."
So Annie,
cruel Annie,
this fondness better end.