Tell me,
Do you still look for me
Coming off the metro
Like we always used to do?
Do you wait for me
To text you first
Or say "I love you too"?
Do you still hold your breath
At 9 o'clock remembering my promise
To call before you turned blue?

Well, my darling, I do too.

If I become blind tomorrow,
I'll know every detail of your face--
Your tired eyes, dimples,
And your imperfectly perfect smile.
I'll still "see" you inconspicuously stealing
Affectionate glances my way.
But, just as before,
I won't need my eyes to find
Your slightly pink lips
Awaiting mine.

Even after all this time,
I remember the look on his face. . .
That sheer desperation and pleading in his eyes.
That was the first time I really felt he cared about me,
His youngest daughter...
But it was too late.
You and me, Jule; you and me.
We can stay here and do all the things
You've always wanted
(He looked at the ground)
and I never made time for.
You and me, Jule.

But the car was packed;
I was going with Mom,
Whether I wanted to or not.
after several fleeting moments
I pulled myself away
Leaving my forlorn father
In the muggy, humid basement.
After all this time, I remember his face
And the smell of that God-forsaken basement.
But I want to forget.

Time is the falling of leaves on a cool autumn day;
colored leaves that taste of cotton candy
and melt in your mouth.
Time looks like my grandfather's snowy, white beard,
and feels like his crisp dress shirts.
It sounds like a cough in the middle of the night,
and tastes of the NyQuil used to soothe it.
His distinctly "old man cologne" wafts through Time
and to the front of my mind.
But Death is cold. . .
Even colder than Time.
Maybe Time is not the falling of leaves,
but the emptying of an old service revolver.

She walks beneath the moonlight,
Dodging the street lights
And lurking beyond each corner.
She yearns for just one star
To descend and kiss her face;
For every single birthday wish
Since she was a little girl
Was that . . .

Though she never quite believed it.

My lips
Quiver in your
Presence of true beauty.
Funny how Nature wields her wrinkled
Old hands.