My brain is a sieve.

Most of the words of this poem have dripped out
on the road
on my shirt
on the front step as I fumbled for my keys.

I think it was something about
starlight and loving you
but then that’s no surprise.
At this point the structure of my DNA
is sonnets I composed for you
and free verse you’ll read and think
is about someone else.
The kinds of words you’ll coo about
and caress in your mind
and shower me with praise over
like a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek
when I want and want and want you.

But I suppose we’ll never know, now
what this poem was going to be about.

It’s my brain, you see.

It’s a sieve.