Your presence comes to me
like some broken silhouette
Hi, hello now. I try to remember
before I forget
like some once known
refrain
If I can just train
my mind to
remember
I don't want to forget
don't go.

'Cause these are still
pieces of me. Blue glass I've stepped on
cutting my foot but pretty still
on the floor. Odd
how that can be.
These remnants of you
And I don't want to forget
doesn't matter I guess
at least I won't regret
in a day or two

I won't regret
what I can't remember.
What happened
February March April May
My mind's blank
from September on––
January
––transitional month
a blur
I'm unsure
What happened
since September.
I try but I can't seem to remember.

I’m scared of silverfish
and you know
it’s the only bug
that’s made me jump
on a chair and actually
start to cry.

Pretty embarrassing.

And I don’t know why they scare me
so much
when they can’t hurt me
but they do.

And your perfect lips upturned in a
smile.  Laughing,
all the while
I’m standing on this chair
and you’re standing over there,
still laughing
–but trying not to
‘cause you know
I’m scared
so you hold me.

And I like when you do.

The feel of the cloth of your vest on my face
as I lie on your chest,
relaxed and I wait.

This is fun, huh?
Nice
like this.  
You ask me what I’m thinking
but I can’t say,
just keep blinking, and
all I muster is, "I don’t know."

I like looking at your face.
The colors appear
to me like a
soft glow.  
Even the shadows
and the darkness
under your eyes.
Darker than
your cheeks.  
Your lovingly flushed cheeks,
complimenting the shades of your eyes and lips.

Your lips. Your perfect, perfect lips.
I looked at your face and told you
"Perfect"
and you said,
"Nothing
is Perfect."
And I told you I didn't create that idea intentionally
That the word just
comes to me
again and again.
I didn’t ask but it just keeps popping in,
saying 'hello' to my mind and telling me
that "Perfect" is correct.  

Every time I
look at you "like that"
––the way I do when you ask what I'm thinking––
I marvel at your complexion,
the assemblage, construction,
melding,
artistry of you.

Here. Here is what I am thinking:

I think of an artist––
Someone who sketches.
Someone who draws.
Not with charcoal. Something more fine.
Dark pencil, maybe. Or a quick, sharp pen.
Richly dark
Purposeful and Exact.
Because your lips are drawn
with perfect, simple, sharp symmetry
as if your artist knew
what was wanted
what was needed
and drew. Then left
because there was nothing more to add.
No,
if he left he must've come back
to look at you some more
like I do.
The quick strokes,
the genius behind his hand.
The brilliance of a movement of ink on canvas of skin.

Your lips are complete in their famously simple,
touch-and-look-how-kissable,
delighted,
red, red lips.
Your lips and cheeks go well together.
And your green-yellow-maybe-brown-too
eyes
With your naturally dark black eyelashes.
Straight.

The same artist who drew your lips
outlined your face.  The lines are the
same. The style has forethought.
The skill used was confident and assured,
your artist.  I can praise your artist
and do. Amazement
and I see how you study me
as I watch.
You can see me taking you in and I
like how we can just look at each other.

I like just to look.

Sometimes, yes,
I think other things...
but often, so often,
it is this.
I
contentedly study,
observe to understand
and embrace your being…
The more I look
and the more we feel
each other,
the closer I think I am
to reaching your soul.
Your base-level.
Soul.
... People should be more hesitant
in using that word.

It is used
too lightly,
too readily,
too frequently.
I doubt people
know a soul
as often as they think
they do.

Intimacy
is different.
A soul
is different.

But that's what I'm interested in.

I've gotten glimpses.
I am comfortable
around you.  
We have a lot of fun together, don't we?
Huh?
But I like
that we can just be, too.

So.
That’s something I think.
There.
And I wish I could draw for you or paint or cut but writing is my medium, my form.

So I describe for you
how I can.
What I can
in words.

I don’t see you yet.

It’s Getting Late.

Where’s your white horse?
Your tender speed?
Cupid, I think
I need to find your bow.
You miscounted;
Only shot one arrow.
Cupid, where are you now
Why don’t you come?
Fix this mess you made.

But it’s okay, I’ll just wait
A little longer
While this street light
Will maybe shine a little stronger.
For now
I’ll just wait

And the cold feels good.
Wish you were here.
I know I should
Stop wishing on stars
But it’s hard
To look at something
So bright
And not burn your eyes
And know that I
Can’t feel that warmth
Unless I wait
A little longer.

At show and tell
my teacher used to
tell me
that what you tell
about a person by
what they bring
to show and tell
all they’ve got
is who they are
and they’ll show you more than tell.

She used to say,
‘Don’t be afraid
Of who you are,
Of what you’re made
Is comparable to some
But to the great’

'cause we try to shake
what we were given
so 'they' wont see
how different we are
from them who decide
the fate of our lives,
so here we are with
open palms giving
you our fears.

So you decide
Because I’m afraid
of who I am.

I want to learn to whistle
With ******* in my mouth
But your pink lamp is on
And we’re not outside
And you’re not moving from your bed.

So I’ll go in my head
Again

With dinosaurs and racing cars
And princesses and shooting stars
And alphabets in Pharaoh’s time
When I grow up you’ll be just fine
‘Cause I’ll be a doctor
I’ll find a cure

Then you can come with me.
And we’ll go outside.

The green grass is waiting
For you to smile again
And the dinosaur will be there
To take you for a ride or be a friend

‘Cause it’s hard without you.

Sometimes cars can go too fast.

But that’s okay ‘cause it’s just in my head.
I’m right here and
You’re not dead.

I never liked those green shades
Don’t worry dear the mist will fade
Away after morning
The shops are closing
The ships are leaving
Later on the sun will come
Bright and burning to scare
Away the mist
Don’t be afraid
We’ll walk the streets
And pretend that we don’t care
‘cause it’s okay
just move your feet
and pretend we’ll go somewhere.

So pull the shades
Or don’t look out
You’re growing up
Can’t hold you back now
Tie you up or confine you to
This chair
Can’t find you, you’re not here.

I know when I
did something wrong.
Happened on that day
It’s been too long
And the memory hasn’t gone away.
You can’t forget and I regret
But you wanted it that way.

Your anchor’s down
My checkered frame
Of mind is too hurt
Is too pained to decide

Her legs won’t move
His voice won’t talk
We lay in silence
Unable to walk
We can’t hear you
‘Cause you’re not there
We want to reach you
To pretend to care
Like you pretend to stand.

I’ll walk the streets
And pretend I don’t care.
I’ll walk away
‘Cause there’s too much here.
If it’s okay
I’ll just move my feet
And wish I were going somewhere.